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in 2011 with funding from 
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EPITAPHS, EPIGRAMS, AND OTHER 
EPHEMERA 



EPITAPHS, EPIGRAMS 

and other 

EPHEMERA 



By 
George Graham Currie 



THE DREW PRESS 

JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA 

MCMXII 






<\ 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1912, 

by George Graham Currie, in the office of 

the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



CCM32717Q 



TO MY FRIEND AND CLIENT 

WILLIAM DISSTON 

(of palm beach, fla. and philadelphia, pa.) 

This Book and its Companion Volumes are 

Respectfully Inscribed : 

Not that such an inscription can add anything to Mr. 
Disston's importance in the industrial world or to 
his generally recognized high character wherever 
he is known, but because it gives the author an 
opportunity of thus publicly showing his ap- 
preciation of the many kindnesses he has 
received at Mr. Disston's hands and affords 
him the pleasure of reciprocating his 
benefactor's confidence in a manner 
that money may not buy. 



CONTENTS 

ACROSTIC AND AUTOGRAPH VERSES. . .105-116 

EPITAPHS 117-129 

EPIGRAMS ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS 131-165 

POEMS 1-104 

Bachelor's Hall— A Song 102-103 

"Beaver", The, 63-64 

Because Of The Irish That's In Me 32-34 

Blessed Assurance 9-10 

Bosky Dell 78-80 

Canada 43-44 

Carry A High Ideal 52-53 

Cast Up By The Sea 50-51 

Christmas 1890 34-36 

City Of Flowers, The 45-47 

Composition, A 77-78 

Coming Of The Stork, The 3-5 

Country Matters 16 

Delray To Prosper In Spite Of The Devil 51-52 

Drafts— A Substantive i 21-22 

Evolution Of Nobility, The 42 

Fledgling's Fate, The 23-24 

Good Old Times, The 65 

How John Tod Conquered The Shushwaps 90-95 

Heights Beyond, The 5-7 

Hotel Royal Poinciana 47-48 

Humanity— A Toast 95-96 

Ideal Time, An 22-23 

In Honor of Dr. John Gorrie 97 

In Memoriam Sir Matthew Begbie 67 

Intoleration 70-71 

Is Your Title Clear? 7-8 

Jubilee Ode 43 

Keep Climbing 67-68 

ix 



Land Of The Rising Sun, The 40-41 

Last Of 1890, The 36-38 

Life Is Like A Game Of Checkers 68-69 

Mary, The Scottish Fishwife And Her Dog 27 

Men Worth While, The (Song) 3 

Miami's Great Show 28-29 

Misery 86 

Mistakes Of The Muses 29-30 

Moore, Byron And Scott 72 

Mother 83-84 

Munchausen's Adventure With Wolves.. . 17-18 

Munyon's Enchanted Isle 48-50 

My Friend Jack 57-58 

Nature's Comforters 53-54 

Ode In Anticipation Of The Drainage And 

Opening Of The Florida Everglades 

Country To Settlement 103-104 

Ode To A Skull 81-83 

Old Ireland Forever 44-45 

Only A Siwash Dog 38-39 

On Selling A Poem 20 

On This Day The Bicycle Girl Completes 

Her Thirty-Sixth Birthday 16-17 

Oversoul, The 69-70 

Passing Of Weary Willie, The 14 

Poet's Plight, A 55-57 

Poet's Welcome To His Firstborn, The. . . 15 

Prayer, A 85-86 

Roscoe Club, The 76-77 

Ruminations By The Side Of A Florida 

Shell Mound 99-101 

Song For Apprentice Accountants, A 87-88 

Speech, A 88-90 

Seasons, The 66 

Soon To Be Deserted Village, The 18-19 

Sunday In Hyde Park 25-26 

Sailor's Song 60 

Tallahassee 97-99 



To My Sweetheart Plus 96-97 

To My Trunk 62-63 

To My Walking Stick 61-62 

That Flea 24-25 

Ties Masonic 59 

To Thee, Oh God 84-85 

Vancouver 30-32 

Washington's Birthday 73 

What The Bellbuoy Says 39 

When We're Dead And Gone 74-75 

World Is Full Of Poets, The 10-14 

TENDERFEET IN ALASKA (A FOUR-ACT 

COMEDY) 167-244 



XI 



POEMS, WISE AND OTHERWISE 



i 



THE MEN WORTH WHILE. 
(song.) 

There are knockers, there are grumblers, there are 

tenderfeet galore, 
Who will tell us what we can't do, and our littleness 

deplore ; 
There are fossils, too, grown hoary in their talk of 

what was done. 
In some other age and country that is underneath the 

sun. 
And again there are the critics always free with cynic 

smile, 
But the men who really do things are the men worth 

while. 

Human progress needs them sadly, they are scarce as 

chicken's teeth ; 
When we meet them every person should be ready with 

a wreath ; 
For they have a world of worries to contend with as 

they go, 
Added to a world of prophets who predict they'll end 

in woe; 
And the risks they run to conquer, prove they earn the 

fruit of toil, 
And that men who really do things are the men worth 

while. 

THE COMING OF THE STORK. 

Life is full of tense excitement and you may, by taking 
thought, 
Get enthusiastically into line; 

[ 3 ] 



You may catch it on the diamond and, whene'er the ball 
is caught, 
"Root" for home and jeer to scorn the other nine. 

You may catch it on the racetrack when, by betting 
ten to one, 
You make everybody think you've got a tip ; 
And again you still may catch it and prolong the race- 
track fun, 
When admirers find they've got it in the hip. 

You may catch it when the battle rages round you on 
the plain, 
And the enemy are aiming at your head ; 
When behind there's no retreating o'er the bloody heaps 
of slain 
And you're waiting to be numbered with the dead. 

You may catch it in the mountain, dodging avalanche 
of snow, 
While you're hunting grizzly bears to beat the 
band; 
You may catch it on the prairie when you're shooting 
buffalo 
And an angry bull turns round and makes a stand. 

You may catch it in the ocean when a hurricane is on, 
And you never have been out before at sea : 

Yes, indeed, that's where you'll catch it and you'll wish 
you hadn't gone 
As you entertain the fishes to your tea. 

You may catch it in the river when the rapids catch 

your breath ; 

You may catch it where the breakers crash ashore; 

It is in the mob-ruled city — it is on the burning heath — 

Or where sweetheart's father points you to the 

door. 

[ 4 ] 



But, bedad; as Pat would say it — If you want the 
rarest kind, 
The kind that makes you chipper as a cork : 
That keeps you months a-dancing and yet keeps you 
dancing blind, 
It's when waiting for the coining of the stork. 



THE HEIGHTS BEYOND. 

Have you ever faced the boulders that are hanging o'er 

the steep? 
Have you ever clung to brambles to enable you to 

creep ? 
Have you ever strained and struggled as you made the 

rough ascent ? 
Have you felt your foothold crumble as along your 

way you went? 
Have you ever looked below you and grown dizzy with 

the sight? 
Till you've turned for very safety to the overhanging 

height ? 
Have you ever, faint and weary, seen the brow that 

frowns above ? 
Have you ever thanked your heaven that you soon 

would on it move? 
Have you then refreshed with promise of the rest you 

there would gain 
With redoubled efforts clambered up the last crags 

that remain, 
Then all breathless stood upon them — when behold ! 

before you dawned, 
Not the summit of the mountain but the greater heights 

beyond. 

So it is in Life's long journey, we find hills we'd fain 
surmount 



[ 5 ] 



And we start to climb the ramparts, strewn with ills 

we cannot count. 
Blest with youth and health and vigor, we pick out our 

devious way, 
Fixing e'en the quiet shelter where at last our load will 

lay: 
And as we overcome each ill between us and our goal, 
We rise by slow degrees and cheer our all inspiring soul, 
Along the rugged path whereon we pant and strive and 

sweat, 
By whispering that yonder is the prize we soon shall 

get. 
And when, by seeming Titan power, we do at last 

succeed 
In getting where we thought, full sure, would be suc- 
cess indeed : 
When lo ! We prove we've just begun to see the 

object fond; 
And if we still would win it, we must scale the heights 

beyond. 

There they stand serene and lovely and much clearer 

to the eye, 
Than when first from out the valley we looked on them 

in the sky. 
How they beckon to the climber ! How they smile 

upon the view ! 
How their snowcapped peaks are outlined and enhal- 

lowed by the blue. 
Round us still great chasms are yawning — huge ravines 

must yet be crossed, 
Nor may we retreat in safety for our footprints have 

been lost. 
On all hands grim troubles threaten and we'll have to 

suffer still, 
And be careful of the snowslide and each other name- 
less ill. 

[ 6 ] 



But behold ! Around the summit all the gorges seem 

to cease — 
There is there no sign of danger — there is there 

eternal Peace. 
Let us then climb on in patience till we've paid Life's 

greatest bond, 
And within Nirvana's portal reach at last the Heights 

Beyond. 

IS YOUR TITLE CLEAR ? 

Can you read your title clearly to your land ? 
Does the abstract prove a seizin that will stand? 

Has your lawyer made a search? 

Do the records show a smirch ? 
Are you satisfied you've got it at command? 

Spite of claim or cloud or flaw 

Spite of tax sale, lien or law — 
Can you read your title clearly to your land? 

Can you read your title clearly to your wealth? 
Did you earn it by your merit or by stealth? 

Is your money bathed in blood? 

Did you find it in the mud? 
Did you get it at the price of helper's health? 

Was it gambled for and lost? 

Is it yours at honor's cost? — 
Can you read your title clearly to your wealth? 

Can you read your title clearly to your power ? 
Is it permanent or only for the hour? 

Can you bank upon your sway? 

Will it bring you through the fray? 
Will your victim always look at you and cower? 

Is it founded on a rock? 

Is it partly made of talk? — 
Can vou read your title clearly to your power? 

[ 7 ] 



Can you read your title clearly to your name? 
Do you whisper it without a twinge of shame? 

Is" there someone else should wear 

Any laurels that you bear? 
By exposure could he rob you of your fame? 

Are you really staunch and true? 

Can we class you with the few? — 
Can you read your title clearly to your name? 

Can you read your title clearly to your friend? 

Is he yours through thick and thin till life shall end? 

Have you knit him to your soul ? 

Do you know his final goal? 
Can you swear that when you need him he'll attend? 

Has your love for him been pure? 

Will it evermore endure? — 
Can you read your title clearly to your friend? 

Can you read your title clearly to your hope ? 
Have you figured out exactly heaven's scope? 

Have you got a noble mind? 

Are you in the least confined? 
On the path you choose to travel do you grope? 

Is the place you aim to reach 

In the woods or on the beach? — 
Can you read your title clearly to your hope? 

Can you read your title clearly to the sky? 

Have you earned in spite of strife a home on high? 

Can you meet the pauper's gaze? 

Do the helpless sing your praise? 
Do the victims of misfortune know you're nigh? 

Will your life that we have seen 

Suit the lowly Nazarene? — 
Can you read your title clearly to the sky? 



[ 8 ] 



BLESSED ASSURANCE. 

(From a business man's standpoint). 

I am insured. I fear no fire: 

The flames may dance to heaven and higher. 

I've paid the price to gain relief — 

A newer house will end my grief. 

My home is mine by double right : 

Though burned it rises through the blight; 

E'en by the ashes I'm secured : 

I fear no fire— I am insured. 

I am insured. I fear no wind : 

Tornadoes can no longer blind. 

Great hurricanes may come and go — 

My roof to yonder yard may blow — 

But in the tempest I can see 

My hope inspiring policy. 

Though howling storm is faithless steward : 

I fear no wind— I am insured. 

I am insured. I fear no thief : 
From burglary I've bought relief. 
The midnight prowler takes his gain — 
He robs me but he robs in vain. 
E'en though my valuables depart, 
I'm proof against his sneaking art ; 
Though by his wiles my wealth is lured : 
I fear no thief— I am insured. 

I am insured. I fear no chance : 
I smile at Fate and break his lance. 
No accident can make me quail ; 
Nor do I failing health bewail : 
Misfortunes that on these depend 
Are now forever at an end : 
What can't be cured must be endured : 
I fear no chance— I am insured. 

[ 9 j 



I am insured. I fear no death : 
I'm now resigned to fleeting breath. 
My passing comes but in its train, 
My loved ones face no paupers' pain : 
One prop is gone but in its place, 
Another comes by saving grace : 
Though long I have the grave adjured, 
I fear no death— I am insured. 

THE WORLD IS FULL OF POETS. 

One said (and in the saying laughed to scorn the poet's 
art) 
That the day of poesy had long gone by; 
So I asked her when she said it, if she'd ever learned 
by heart 
A poem, a verse, a line — to tell me why? 
And she faltered that her Shakespeare was an ever 
present friend 
Whose wise lines were interwoven with her 
prayers ; 
That indeed there were some later poets, too, she 
might defend : 
As they often with their balm relieved her cares. 

And I smiled, nor further questioned as I passed along 
my way — 
In her soul she was a poet like the rest ; 
For the world is full of poets ; 'tis the poets' happiest 
day; 
There is scarce a mortal born not one confessed. 
Would you further prove my dictum? would you know 
yourself aright? 
Would you test the inner sight and search the core? 
Then I ask you, have you ever, in the stilly hours of 
night, 
Heard the moaning of the surf along the shore? 



[ 10 



Have you heard it whisper danger? Have you shud- 
dered with affright? 
Have you seen the wraiths of kindred gone before, 
Who had failed to heed the warning and who vanished 
in the night; 
In the night within the surf along the shore? 
Or have you heard its music in the sunlight of the day- 
time? 
Have you seen it clap its hands for very joy? 
Have you dreamed, while looking at it, of a long past 
youthful gay time 
Of a pleasure like the surf without alloy? 

Have you ever watched the embers of a fire within the 
grate, 
When the gloaming crept around your curtained 
room? 
Have you wondered what you saw there ? Was it 
fancy? Was it Fate? 
Till you lost yourself within the gathering gloom? 
And at first you see a schoolfriend — then a sweet- 
heart — comes before you 
Then a dearer — ever dearer fills the view ; 
Till from out the glowing ashes comes an echo "I adore 
You" 
And you rouse yourself to see, can it be true? 

Have you ever in a churchyard walked along with foot- 
steps slow 
Till you come within the precincts of a vault? 
Have you felt the eery impulse to squint sideways as 
you go? 
Have you seemed to hear a voice demanding 
"Halt?" 
Have you stopped — then on your tiptoe ventured in 
beyond the portal, 
Have you held your breath and dared not turn 
your head? 

F 11 ] 



Have you shivered and grown ghastly, then remem- 
bered you were mortal 
And retired as one returning from the dead? 

Have you looked upon the cloudlets as they flitted o'er 
the sky? 
And beheld them, as they scampered, change their 
shape? 
Have you suddenly grown thoughtful and recognized 
on high 
The outline of some well remembered cape ? 
Then before you quite could place it it becomes a lion 
bold 
And is shaking at the heavens its shaggy mane; 
Till again your fleeting fancy sees the mass together 
rolled, 
And it now becomes an Indian of the plain. 

See the feathers o'er his forehead ! See the blanket 
round his frame ! 
See his hand raised slowly upward as to speak ! 
Have you almost heard him utter words of menace, 
words of blame, 
Till within his hand a tomahawk you seek? 
Have you then, as slow it faded, been reminded of his 
race? 
Have you felt a tug of pity at your breast? 
Have you moralized why progress must his progeny 
efface? 
If you have, then in that moral lies a test. 

Have you ever been to dreamland and, while there, 
have had a call 
From a friend you had forgotten many years? 



[ 12 ] 



Have you ever in your slumbers seen the writing on 
the wall — 
Till you've mingled with resolves repentant tears? 
Have you ever seen a vision of the glorious heights 
above ? 
Have you fancied that they beckoned you to climb ? 
Have you listened in the silence to the gentle voice of 
love? 

Have you heard o'er worldly din the heavenly 
chime? 

Has the touch of baby fingers— has the prattle of a 

child 
Ever spurred you into battle for the right? 
Has the innocence of virtue ever curbed your passion 

wild, 

And you've given to injured weakling of your 
might ? 
Has the pansy or the lily, or the little blushing rose, 
Ever seemed to you more human than a flower? 
Has the greatness of the mountain, crowned by never 
melting snows, 
Ever preached to you a sermon for the hour? 

Has one query here put to you, of a former fate re- 
called? 
Can you answer "yes" to one in point of fact? 
If you can, my friend, you need not ever more become 
appalled 
At the "afflatus divine" you thought you lacked. 
For whoever has in fancy with Dame Nature held 
communion ; 
Whoever has in silence heard a voice; 
Is an Adept and a Prophet and can join the Poet's 
Union ; 
Has a right among the Seers to rejoice. 



[ 13 1 



It may chance our rhyme is faulty — it may chance we're 
not inspired 
And the flights we have remain within ourself ; 
Or, perhaps, the great occasion has not yet our bosom 
fired, 
And we're plodding low to gather vulgar pelf : 
If howe'er some other rhymer with a line can cheer 
our way : 
Even this will make us stand the poet's test : 
For the world is full of poets ; 'tis the poet's happiest 
day — 
There is scarce a mortal born not one confessed. 

THE PASSING OF "WEARY WILLIE." 

In remembrance of a fellow sufferer in an Irish law office, 
who had numerous peculiarities and who finally left his position 
of cashier to become a clergyman in England. While in the 
office he had studied his way through Trinity College. The 
night work naturally made him "tired" in the day. 

Now no more will "Weary Willie" tell us how the 

tram was late ; 
Now no more we'll hear of vigils to explain an aching 

pate ; 
Now the bottle with the milk in never more will be in 

sight ; 
Now no dockets will be wanted — now at last the cash 

is right ; 
Now McShane looks sad and lonely, no one calls him 

"face divine;" 
Now Biggs waxes dark and gloomy — since he's gone 

who urged him shine; 
Now when 'prentice lads discover all unfilled the 

"bosses" chair, 
No demoniac shrieks of torture will disturb the office 

air; 
Now the pride of landed gentry will no longer be our 

talk; 

[ 14 ] 



Now the precedence of lawyers over clergy none will 

mock; 
Now, alas, our pal has left us and a tear each eye 

bedims; 
While beyond the waste of waters "Weary Willie's" 

singing hymns. 

THE POET'S WELCOME TO HIS FIRSTBORN. 

Welcome, little stranger, welcome to our home; 
If you find it meagre, hope for more to come: 
All we have is yours, and we're yours as well; 
Welcome, little stranger! Lord, how you can yell! 

I'm your father, youngster; that's your mother there; 
It was us who brought you to this world of care. 
We are glad we did it, but it's hard on you, 
That is why we offer home and service too. 

That is why we promise that our life shall be 
Consecrated always to our fealty: 
We have long expected such as you to come; 
Gracious, how you're squirming ! sure you do look rum. 

But I know you're ours. Here's my hand on that. 
Kiss your father, darling. (Gee, don't that sound 'pat') 
Kiss your mother too, dear; she deserves it most; 
For your sake already she was near a ghost. 

Welcome, little stranger. Welcome to our home! 
Clap your hands like that, lad, for your dad to come : 
All we have is yours and we wish you bliss. 
Welcome, little stranger— here's another kiss. 



[ 15 ] 



COUNTRY MATTERS. 

In memory of the celebration of Dominion Day, at Chicago 
during the World's Fair, 1893, and of the speeches of Carter 
Harrison, the Mayor, and J. b. Locke, a Canadian Commissioner. 

Says Uncle Sam to Canada 
"My Dear, I like your style ; 
"If you'll be true 
"I'll marry you — 

"Sure that is worth your while." 

Says Canada to Uncle Sam 
"You flatter me, dear mister ; 
"For your great nerve 
"You much deserve — 

"So I will be your sister." 

"But surely, Miss, says Uncle Sam, 
"You cannot blame my notion ; 
"Since parallel 
"Our countries dwell 

"From ocean unto ocean?" 

"Indeed, that's true," says Canada, 
"Your notion seems complete ; 
"So to be fair, 
"We two may pair — 

"When parallels shall meet." 

ON THIS DAY THE BICYCLE GIRL COMPLETES 
HER THIRTY-SIXTH BIRTHDAY. 

(With apologies to Byron). 

Like one forlorn she rides along ; 

No dudish glances near her stray; 
Her bloomers now attract no throng — 

She's had her day. 

[ 16 ] 



The chic of her new woman ways, 

Though once a never failing charm, 
A victim to the cycling craze, 

Has come to harm. 

Of old she set the town agape, 

As through its streets she whirled so fast; 
Of late, with limbs bent out of shape, 

She wobbles past. 

Her days are in the yellow leaf; 

The jaunty airs of youth are flown; 
A face that looks like sculptured beef 

Is hers alone. 

MUNCHAUSEN'S ADVENTURE WITH WOLVES. 

I was galloping, galloping over the border, 

Twixt Prussia and Russia in days that are past; 

Over snowdrift and prairie with October ardor, 
My good grey mare Peggy was galloping fast : 

When suddenly out of a thicket there darted 
The hungriest wolf that I ever have seen; 

And galloping, galloping after me started 

With blood in his eye and a murderous mien. 

The race seemed quite hopeless, but yet, nothing 
daunted, 

Poor Peggy I pestered with torturing whip; 
And she galloped and galloped and panted and panted ; 

But plain from the first she was losing her grip! 

The breath of the wolf I soon felt on my shoulder, 
And seeing him quickly preparing to spring, 

I dodged and thus happily lived to grow older,— 
For o'er me he flew like a vulture on wing. 

[ 17 ] 



On galloping Peggy's hind-quarters he landed, 

And straightway began to make good his repast; 

While I kept on whipping, though now weary handed, 
Determined to keep up our speed to the last. 

And so while my whip on poor Peggy was falling, 
The wolf was devouring her out of her skin ; 

For as each huge mouthful — the tale is appalling — 
Was torn from her carcase the monster went in. 

Till, would you believe it, (for once I was lucky), 
That wolf in the harness soon found himself 
caught, 

And as I had heard that, far other than plucky, 

The grit of a wolf could be counted as naught : 

I doubled my blows and by cleverest reining, 
I kept up the gallop that never had ceased ; 

And just as the shadows of even were waning, 

A light in the distance my courage increased. 

So steadily onward — no horse ever matched him — 
That wolf made a record unheard of before; 

Till once in the village the natives despatched him, 
And safe out of danger my gallop was o'er. 

THE SOON-TO-BE DESERTED VILLAGE. 

Alaska, as everybody knows, is a very large territory. In the 
absence of a civilized population, which was largely the case when 
this poem was written, this vastness of area has some dis- 
advantageous sides to it. In no way, however, is it so annoying 
as at the semi-annual sittings of the district court, when, in 
order to get a grand jury together, subpoenas have to be sent 
out over a distance of several hundred miles. The court is 
usually held at Sitka, the capital, although by far the 
greater number of jurors have to be summoned from Juneau, 
the largest town — unfortunately, some 200 miles away. The 
Juneauites do not like this three-week compulsory vacation. In 
fact, old records, doctors' certificates, etc., etc., are never in 

[ 18 ] 



such great demand. Those, however, who are compelled to go 
make the best of a bad bargain, and consequently quiet, dreamy,' 
old Sitka is like a pandemonium while the "boys" are there 
It was on one ot these occasions that the poem below first saw the 
light. It was published in the Juneau Mining Record a few days 
before the courting" citizens were expected back; and although 
the author would not have faced Goldsmith for the world after 
imitating him so badly, it gave him considerable satisfaction, a 
tew hours after its anonymous publication, to have an old timer 
m the country recite the poem almost from beginning to end 
oetore an applauding audience, with the ejaculation: "Gen- 
tlemen, that tells you all you want to know about Sitka." 

Sweet Sitka, loveliest village of the wild, 
Undimmed attraction to the wandering child; 
Where Fall and Winter 'merged in one do stay' 
Till tardy Spring their torrents drives away; 
And where, when Summer comes, thy lonely charms 

to kiss, 
No other clime can boast such short-lived reign of bliss, 
How often have I climbed thy castle's height serene ;— 
And gazed abroad amazed, upon the varied scene, 
Close bounded by the tombs upon a neighb'ring steep, 
Where rude forefathers of the savage Siwash sleep.' 
How oft in pensive mood through native ranch I've 

strolled, 
Or by the barracks grim and Russian buildings old; 
Beside the great Greek church, the tumble-down fire 

hall; 

The aged, worn-out mill, and Mission buildings all ; 
Or paced that only road, to lovers doubly dear, 
That leads to nature's haunts and Indian river near. 
But Sitka, like sweet Auburn, of whose fate we all have 

read, 
Is dying, slowly dying— after court she will be dead. 



[ 19 ] 






ON SELLING A POEM 

A poet addresses his sister in the following manner: 

My dear forerunner from the self same womb ; 
Who came to warn the world I too might come; 

Attend my lay ! 
Or, if too prudish, better go thy way; 
For I feel funny now — I'm prone to shout — 
What's in me, like black murder, sure will out. 

And yet for all my glee, I wish you'ld stay ; 
Since I have something simply grand to say — 

A sweet bon mot ; 
Indulge my fever, ere away you go, 
And for a time I'll hold unruly tongue 
In check, that you may catch its song. 

For 'tis a song of promise and of hope ; 
I have Miss Fame so tethered with a rope 

She cannot budge; 
And if on me her smiles she seems to grudge ; 
Great Caesar's ghost ! the flirt's within my power, 
And she will rue it if she looks too sour. 

You — who long since have seen me "mewl and puke — " 
As Shakespeare says — (so vain is shocked rebuke), 

And rocked my cot, 
And wished me, when I howled, in warmer spot — 
I have no doubt — you now can sympathize 
With the wild shriek I send to higher skies. 

You, whom I teased, boylike, to make you mad ; 
Then fought and scratched and tore your clothes egad, 

And then sneaked off ; 
Till you grew wise and laughed at painless chaff; 
And learned that wit assailed by vulgar force 
Gains with the contact power to clear its course. 



[ 20 ] 



You, sister mine, with whom through crowded years 
I've swapped my shames my pleasures and my tears- 
Matched woe with woe — 
Now listen to my latest thrill before you go: 
I've sold a poem. Rah! there goes my hat! 
Three cheers for Ireland and a kiss for Pat! 

DRAFTS— A SUBSTANTIVE. 

That would seem to have more than one meaning 

A Burdened Beast neighed his despair, 
Then kicked across the shafts; 

But all in vain his efforts were 
To get aloof from "draughts." 

A Boy remarked with candor free 
That "draughts" were "dull as lead;" 

"Because," said he, "I cannot see 
"More than one move ahead." 

A Draughtsman, asked to make a draught, 

Did all he could to shirk; 
"Because," said he, "'twould drive one daft, 

Draughts are so much like work." 

A Typist raised her voice to show 
That law work was not clover; 

But "drafts" she called her chiefest woe 
For they must be done over. 

A Tourist, sobered down with years, 

The use of "drafts" decried; 
Since one, to calm each payer's fears, 

Must be identified. 



[ 21 



i 



A Lubber showed his sailing skill 

By preference for rafts 
And gave for reason "they'ld not fill ; 

Because rafts have no draughts." 

A Captain bold objected much 

To "drafts" upon his men; 
But Generals are like the Dutch 

They do the same again. 






A Sage stroked down his hoary beard 
When men on "drafts" discussed 

And shivered out in accents weird : 
"Drafts" prove we are but dust. 

While thus at drafts fly venomed shafts 

From youth as well as age ; 
'Tis well to think, that, when we drink, 

Good "draughts" our thirsts assuage. 

AN IDEAL TIME. 

In memory of a private picnic which was arranged for, but — ! 

Across the stream, amid the trees 

And fragrant fields of grass, 
Each lad of our acquaintance good 

Asked o'er some charming lass. 

A fire of brushwood soon was built, 

O'er which a pot was hung; 
Filled from a spring of Adam's ale 

We found the hills among. 



The contents soon began to boil, 
And then we had some tea; 

And those who don't believe we ate 
Should have been there to see. 

[ 22 ] 






We cleaned the baskets one by one, 

Of their delicious load, 
Of fish and meat and cakes and pie 

And berries a la mode. 

But luncheon o'er we quick began 
To skip and play quite curious, 

In fact, to quote from Bobby Burns, 
The fun grew "fast and furious." 

A lovely time indeed was spent 
With hammocks, swings and such; 

While tennis, quoits and croquet, too, 
Took up attention much. 

'Twas midnight past before we thought 

Of ending up the day, 
And then with ev'ry basket light 

We homeward bent our way. 

The only drawback to our sport, 

Amid those fields of grass, 
Was this,— a trifling one, 'tis true— 

It never came to pass. 

THE FLEDGLING'S FATE. 

In a nest lined with leaves, 

'Neath the sheltering eaves, 

A fledgling once railed at its fate; 

Saying: Why should I sigh, 

While other birds fly; 

Yet lazily sit here and wait. 



f 23 ] 



I too have got wings, 

And can use them it sings ; 

Nor will I mope longer alone ; 

Let me once leave this nest, 

And I'll soar with the best 

E'en though I be only half grown. 

But it found to its cost, 

How in vain was such boast; 

As it pressed from its eave-covered shed ; 

For it dropped with a groan 

On a pavement of stone, 

Where it fluttered and gasped and was dead. 

Let us learn by the fall, 

Of this fledgling so small, 

That, to soar, we must first know the way. 

If success we would share; 

For attainment prepare; 

Nor expect to be great in a day. 



THAT FLEA. 

Ah ! there I've caught you in the very act ; 
Fiend, who the quiet of my leisure wracked; 
Now never more your movements will distract; 

I have you firm. 
Safe 'twixt my fingers, all in vain your tact ; 

There must you squirm. 

Black breasted villain, would that with like ease, 
I might now crush with one unsparing squeeze, 
From all your kind the life that can so tease 

Poor tortured man; 
And once for aye annihilate all fleas 

From out the land. 

[ 24 ] 



Then might I gain a sweet and full revenge, 
And for your bites one fatal pinch exchange; — 
Gladly your corpses in a row I'd range 

That all might see, 
How I had rid mankind of more than mange — 

The genus flea. 

But why so quiet? Are you stilled at last? 
Why yield so quickly to the fateful blast? 
Hush ! Till I gaze and gloat upon the ghost 

Of one laid low; 
And happy, view how life and death contrast 

In conquered foe. 

But hold ! My all too ready boast is vain. 

Not even one of hated hosts is slain. 

E'en while I talked my slippery coated bane 

Elusive fled : 
And down my back I feel his fangs again — 

Would I were dead. 

SUNDAY IN HYDE PARK. 

One of the fashionable breathing spaces for London, England. 

Morning. 

Along the Row to Marble Arch 

Wealth's famed procession passes by; 

Sweet ladyships with glancing eye, 
And lordships stiff in shining starch : 
A gaitered foot, a stove pipe head, 
An upturned nose, with wine grown red, 
A purple robe, a stately strut, 
Ringed ears to all but flatt'ry shut : 
List to the nothings that they say, 
As each proud group goes on its way. 

They're happy in their little game, 

[ 25 ] 



And I will be the last to squeal; 

For I confess it to my shame 
I know exactly how they feel. 

Afternoon. 

Wild speakers on imported stumps ; 

Surrounded by excited mobs, 

Tell how the rich the poor man robs, 
And with one hand the other thumps. 
The tortured air is full of saws 
About the curse of wealth-made laws ; 
Till on the outskirts of a crowd 
Some doubting Thomas swears aloud, 
Then walks away in arch disgust, 
While after him flies parting thrust. 

Perhaps reforms are born that way; 
I cannot blame e'en useless zeal ; 

I've tried reforming in my day, 
And know how happy zealots feel. 

Evening. 

The moonlight streams near shady seat 

Secluded from the worldly breeze ; 

Where lips with vows fond hearts would ease, 
Yet hearts uneased with loudness beat. 
To rest and count the stars I'm fain; 
But for a nook I search in vain ; 
'Tis lovers' hour within the Park, 
And each still nook and cranny dark, 
Is lighted by love's spluttering wick — 
Whose splutter sounds like pistol click. 

I must begone — I dare not stay — 
Tight, straining arms my doom will seal ; 

Poor things it is their happiest day ■ 
I've felt the raptures lovers feel. 



[ 26 ] 









MARY, THE SCOTTISH FISHWIFE, AND HER 

DOG. 

Mary had a little dog, 
With teeth just like a shark; 

And ev'rything that Mary said, 
Would make that doggie bark. 

It followed her to town each day, 
Though not against her wish, 

For it appears her aim in life 
Was selling "caller" fish. 

And when she sang her humble cry 

Upon the stone-paved street, 
The dog to help was never shy, 

But loud her voice did greet. 

And as she marches on her way, 

The dog ne'er far behind, 
With shaking tail and panting breath, 

Much custom helps to find. 

For when the people hear that bark, 
They know that May is nigh ; 

And haste to get their dishes out, 
That they some fish may buy. 

But should some evil disposed one 

His mistress try to rob, 
That dog is there with sharkish teeth, 

To make the culprit sob. 

And as this world goes on apace, 
And grows and fades the heather, 

These simple two are never seen 
Except they are together. 

[ 27 ] 



And as they travelled on through life, 
Their friends found out at length 

Their well proved motto had been this : — 
In unity is strength. 

MIAMI'S GREAT SHOW. 

They may talk of the World's Fair at Paris, 

And the sights that were there to be seen ; 
They may think that Chicago could harass 

And make smaller ventures look mean : 
But we know that they all are mistaken; 

Such exhibits will scarcely compare — 
(If the same things from each should be taken — ) 

With Dade county's wonderful Fair. 

What with orange and grapefruit and lemon, 

With tangerine, pawpaw and lime ; 
With pineapple, pepper, persimmon 

And mango (to keep up the rhyme) 
With compte, kohl-rabi, cassava, 

Figs, dates, pomegranates in store, 
Sapodilla delicious and guava, 

And mellow bananas galore; 

With pears avocado, tomatoes, 

And turnips and lettuces sweet; 
With plantains, peas, beans and potatoes 

With cocoanut, olive and beet ; 
With cauliflower, carrot and onion 

And cucumbers juicy and cool; 
With corn — yes, but not any bunion — 

(Which is named to keep metre in rule.) 

What with parsnips and parsley and Dutch-like 

Green cabbage and celery head; 
Asparagus, spinach and such like 

[ 28 ] 



And strawberries, luscious and red ; 
What with sugar cane, melon and kumquat ; 

With pumpkins of every grade ; 
With egg-plants and. okra and what not : 

All grown in the gardens of Dade. 

All ripened by tropical sunshine, 

And seasoned with Everglade dew; 
Such trophies from hammock and high pine 

On no other soil ever grew ; 
Let them talk of Chicago and Paris 

Let them even take Eden in tow — 
But nothing they say can embarrass 

Or belittle Miami's Great Show. 



MISTAKES OF THE MUSES. 

"Apropos the letter of Geo. W. Wilson of the T. U. & C. in 
a certain issue of the "News" which we reproduce* hereunder, 
and of the various editorials throughout the State of Florida 
with regard to the Dade County Fair and its influence in redeem- 
ing the reputation of the editor of the Homeseeker, a sweet singer 
of Dade County rises to the occasion in the following flights:" 

In Memoriam E. V. B. 

(Before the Fair.) 
Here "lies" Brother Blackman, who in death as in life 
Still holds to the habit that caused him such strife; 
If the soil where he's planted is rich, as he said, 
Then look out for more lies — he'll not long be dead. 

(After the Fair.) 

Requiescat in Pace. 

Since the words above written were cut in cold stone 
The Miami Fair makes all Florida moan. 
Salt tears to scared eyes now for Blackman are welling : 
For sure he'll be back here — 'twas truth he was telling. 



[ 29 



*OFFICE OF FLORIDA TIMES-UNION AND CITIZEN. 

Jacksonville, Fla., April 8, 1901. 
Editor Miami News: 

For several years Dr. Blackman has represented the Times.- 
Union and Citizen at Miami. He, in the course of this time, 
has sent many articles to this office on the agricultural and 
horticultural possibilities of Dade County, and made statements 
based on what was supposed to be facts — but our blue pencil 
worked overtime in cutting down and out what was supposed 
to be extravagant statements, and as we try to make the columns 
of the Times-Union and Citizen truthful, we slashed liberally. 
But now I come to make a very frank, open apology to Dr. 
Blackman, because of the injustice done him in the past, and 
the Dade County Fair brought about this penitence. 

What if Dr. Blackman had written for the Times-Union and 
Citizen a descriptive article of the products displayed there, 
confining himself to the truth literally, and forwarded to the 
editorial department without my knowledge of this wonderful 
exhibition? I would have cut it down one-half, slashed out with 
the cold-blooded blue pencil all about the big cabbages, Irish 
potatoes, squash, ripe watermelons, celery, and many other things 
— but now — we shall print all that the Doctor writes. Forgive 
us. He has been telling the truth these many years, and we 
have sinned. Yours, 

Geo. W. Wilson. 

VANCOUVER. 

What, with its promise as the terminus of the greatest railway 
in America, its proximity to the Silver Mines of Kootenay and 
its being the outfitting point for the Gold Mines of Fraser River, 
Cariboo, Cassiar, and last, but not least, the Klondike, the name 
of the Metropolis of British Columbia has become a magic word 
in the East, and from what follows was quite as powerful as the 
word "Excelsior" to lure a youth to his doom. 

The summer's sun was waning low 
Behind a western hillock's brow; 
As, by a little pamphlet caught, 
An Eastern youth first grasped the thought, — 

"Vancouver." 

As if by instinct forth he drew 

His purse, and searched it through and through ; 

And as enough he there espied 

To pay his way, he loudly cried, — 

"Vancouver." 
[ 30 ] 



"What! What is that?" the old man said, 
"You are not fit to earn your bread." 
He turned, and fire flashed from his eye, 
As half suppressed all heard this cry, — 

"Vancouver." 

His many friends gave kind advice, 
And from his purpose to entice 
Tried ev'ry means they could conceive ; 
But with this word he took his leave, — 

"Vancouver." 

"Oh, do not go !" the maiden sighed, 
With look that would a god have tried; 
But true unto his purpose still, 
He answered back, in accents shrill, — 

"Vancouver." 

Great cities smiled to take him in 
As on his way he heard their din ; 
But on their flatt'ring smiles he frowned, 
And in this shriek their din was drowned, — 

"Vancouver." 

Across the prairie, wild and wide, 
His onward course he daily hied ; 
Though shot on shot he saw at game, 
His course and song was still the same, — 

"Vancouver." 

The Rocky mountains soon at hand, 
He scaled their heights not yet unmanned ; 
And clambered over cliff and ford, 
Repeating oft the self-same word — 

"Vancouver." 



I" 31 ] 



Through gorge and canyon lies his way, 
His purse — not spirit — fails each day; 
For nothing daunted, on he hies, 
And echoes answer from the skies, — 

"Vancouver." 

At last, quite "broke," he sights the town ; 
The natives greet him with a frown : 
Too great the shock, he forward falls, 
But dying, still that cry recalls, — 

"Vancouver." 

And now he lies unwept, unsung, 
The scarred and straggling stumps among; 
While not far from the unhonored dead 
Goes on with brisk and busy tread, — 

"Vancouver." 



BECAUSE OF THE IRISH THAT'S IN ME. 

This song was written as a contribution to an amateur news- 
paper called the Longfellow Literary Review, read at a meeting 
of a society of the same name held at Juneau, Alaska, on the 
17th of March, 1891. 

It was composed just before Parnell's death, and while he was 
laboring under a cloud occasioned by his expose in the O'Shea 
divorce suit. 

"The Irish that's in me" is that which I obtained from my 
mother, both of whose parents, I am proud to say, were originally 
from the land of Erin and Shamrocks. 

What makes me feel angry when Ireland's traduced? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 
Why drink I so deep to an Irishman's toast? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 
What makes my blood boil, when I think of the laws 
(Of hard times in Ireland the positive cause) 
Encroaching on freedom, then asking applause? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 

[ 32 ] 



What makes me resent being wound like a spool? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 
Why am I so ready to fight for Home Rule? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 
Why do I like Gladstone, can anyone tell? 
Why do I make bold to stand up for Parnell ? 
What makes me remember that angels once fell ? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 

Oh, why am I soothed when "Killarney" is sung? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 
And why does Moore's "Tara" to memory cling? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 
Why have I a right to aspire to the fame 
Of a Goldsmith's, a Steele's, a Sheridan's name? 
For leanings to Gulliver, what is to blame? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 

Why is it I relish an Irishman's wit? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 
What sets me uproarious when Pat makes a hit? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 
When an Irish girl, roguish, and buxom, and coy, 
Smiles sweetly and calls me the broth of a boy; 
Why is it I almost flow over with joy? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 

Why is it I always am making mistakes? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 
Why is it I'm prone to say "jabbers and faix"? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 
When seventeenth of Ireland 'round on us has worn, 
Explain why with Shamrocks my coat I adorn, 
Singing gaily "St. Patrick's Day in the Morn"? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 



[ M ] 



Why is it I'm careless in fixing my duds? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 
Why am I enamor'd of murphies and spuds? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 
When the "cratur's" around, what makes me so shy? 
And why do I watch it with wistfullest eye? 
Then find in surprise I'm infernally dry? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 

Why am I a post at which everyone kicks? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 
Why is my poor head a fam'd target for bricks? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 
Why do I forgive and forget ev'ry frown? 
And sing to amuse and make friends like a clown? 
When ev'ryone's wishing for me to sit down? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 

(As an encore) 

What makes you all wild now to hear an encore? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 
Why on my weak efforts such plaudits you pour? 

It's because of the Irish that's in me. 
But, friends, I've too often the Blarney stone kissed; 
Protection I'll find behind Sullivan's fist; 
Defending my honor, your necks he will twist; 

All because of the Irish that's in me. 

CHRISTMAS, 1890. 

At the time these lines were written there were few railroads 
or telegraph lines in Alaska, and in winter even steamboat con- 
nection with the outside world was scarce. The arrival of the 
bi-monthly steamer with mail and provisions from "below" (as 
anywhere south of that country is called) was consequently an 
event of no small moment. At Juneau, Sitka, Wrangel, or, in 
fact, any of the settlements at which it called, the approach of 
the steamer at any hour of the day or night was the signal for 
a hurry and bustle that would do credit to a town ten times 

[ 34 ] 



their combined size. Even the usually stoical natives were 
noticed "to get a move on." The small boys, and many of the 
bigger ones, too, for that matter, set up a series of catcalls, 
halloos and yells of "steamboat," which, added to the deep 
resounding whistle of the vessel as it gave warning of its arrival, 
made it utterly impossible for anyone to live within a mile of 
the settlement and not know that the mail boat had arrived. 
Juneau was composed entirely of "wanderers from home," so 
that some of the feelings portrayed in "Xmas, 1890" were 
pretty common property among the prodigals in that far-away 
part of our continent, many of whom, like the author, were just 
out of their "teens." 

Tidings from home ! Glad tidings from home ! 
Christmas morning, and tidings from home! 
Ring out, ye wild bells, till your tongues you destroy; 
You cannot interpret a tithe of my joy. 

To-day when I wakened from sleep to my fate, 
My heart was weighed down with my lonely estate ; 
In sadness I nurtured each grief and each care; — 
The thought that 'twas Christmas increased my despair : 
So when out pierced the cry of "Steamboat ! the 

steamboat !" 
A slight choking sensation welled up in my throat ; 
But on pond'ring a moment, thinks I, with a groan ; 
There'll be nothing for me, I'm forgotten and lone ; 
Yet still a faint hope goaded onward my feet 
To the post-office building — all Juneau's retreat. 
But there in a corner, shame-faced I stood, 
Till the crowd had dispersed with their tidings of good ; 
For I feared to be told with the people around, 
That for "Currie, G. G." not a note could be found. 
When the office was clear, to the wicket I went, 
And with nonchalant air gave anxiety vent ; 
And then with a quick beating heart in my breast, 
Waited doubtfully hopeful to see was I blest : 
Imagine my wonder, excuse my surprise, 
As incredulous gazing I saw 'fore my eyes, 
Not one, but six letters in handwriting dear, 
Addressed to myself quite convincingly clear; 

[ 35 ] 



I grabbed them elate, — broke open each seal; 

And devoured their contents with a feverish zeal ; 

And my rapture grew greater as I in my glee 

Read the heaps of kind wishes there written for me ; 

For among the loved names that appeared at the ends, 

Were those of my father, my sister, and friends. 

Tidings from home ! Glad tidings from home ! 
Christmas morning, with tidings from home ! 
Ring out, ye wild bells, till your tongues you destroy; 
You cannot interpret a tithe of my joy. 

THE LAST OF 1890. 

I sat by the fireside, sobbing, sighing, 
To think that the year was slowly dying, 
When to stop its course was useless trying, 

All power was vain. 

Old '90 had lived its alloted space, 
It had run Life's short and fitful race, 
And would soon join in en route to grace 

The gospel train. 

And as I sat, — saw the embers glowing, 
Thinks I, while the wind outside was blowing, 
Had '90 for me a healthy showing, 

Or otherwise? 

And I pondered it o'er with weighty thought, 
Recalled each trifling bliss it brought, 
But alas ! found no great good it wrought, 

That I might prize. 

The whole year, almost from beginning, 
Despite resolves, had found me sinning; 
And this kept in my mem'ry dinning, 

As there I mused. 

[ 36 ] 






Why should I then its death regret? 
Ah ! there's the rub, that makes me fret : 
I'd fain the reason quite forget, 

Till more enthused. 

You see — or rather — now I'm vexed ; 
Such prying questions make me mixed ; 
You should not, Thought, get persons fixed 

In such a box. 

I liked old '90, spite of trouble, 
E'en though my sins increased to double, 
Though life seemed scarcely worth a bubble, 

To most of folks. 

So now, old pard, God speed you well, 
And keep you free of far famed h — 1; 
Some wished you there this long, long spell, — 

The rascal crew. 

And since young '91 you're here, 
I'll stand the treats: cigars or beer? 
You're hardly old enough, I fear, 

For stronger stew. 

But hold ! The temp'rance men might shout, 
And call me villain out and out; 
For tempting you their worth to doubt; 

Alack the day ! 

"So gie's your hand, we'll aye be friends" 
(As Sandy says) to make amends ; 
And that your stay no ill forfends, 

We'll trust and pray. 



[ 2>7 ] 



In Juneau, that's where I'm residing, 
The boys need someone by for chiding; 
I hope you'll do some trusty guiding, 

And guard them true. 

And when, my friend, your hours are ending, 
When life with death is slowly blending, 
I think — I know without contending, 

I'll sigh for you. 

ONLY A SIWASH DOG. 

While on a canoe trip from Juneau, Alaska, to the Skeena. 
River, B. C, my companion and I were surprised one morning 
by the appearance at our camp of a half-starved Eskimo (or 
Siwash) dog. We were probably one hundred miles from any 
village or settlement at the time, and of this fact our canine 
visitor seemed fully aware. It had probably been forgotten on shore 
by some wandering party of Indians, and coming across our 
track had concluded that its one last hope for life lay in our 
generosity. Not being overstocked with provisions, and being 
unable to tell within two or three days' voyage of our distance 
from the nearest supply place, we could ill afford the animal a 
meal. Grateful for what little we did spare, the dog kept our 
canoe in sight all morning, and when we finally started across 
the mouth of an inlet — at least four miles across — the poor brute 
recognized its predicament, and for hours its howls of misery, 
human almost in their pathos, were wafted over the water as 
we glided away. It was at least two days after the incident, 
but while the sound was still ringing in my ears, that being de- 
tained on shore by stress of weather I wrote the verses which 
follow: 

Only a Siwash dog, gaunt, ugly and lean ; 
Too currish to run, yet ashamed to be seen ; 
Yellow and stunted, of famine the mark; 
Worthless, excepting to eat and to bark ; 
Deserted on shore by his master and friends, 
With a shy, furtive look to our camp he descends. 



f 38 1 



Alone in Alaska — bleak, barren and wild, 
Where mountains of rock on each other are piled ; 
Alone on a strand where encampments are few, 
Where mankind is scarce, and where dogkind is too ; 
Where food is so precious that none could we spare 
From hampers already harassingly bare. 

Only a Siwash dog, gaunt, ugly and all ; 
Why worry about it, his earnings are small. 
Yet still, as I gaze on that keen, wistful eye, 
In search of the place where our eatables lie, 
My heart with me pleads and his hunger I feel, 
Till pity compels me to give him a meal. 

At length we embark and row out from the bay, — 
The dog follows hard, on the beach, half a day ; 
But woe to his hopes for a crossing we make 
That leaves him a prisoner far in our wake. 
Out stands he on point jutting into the sea 
And howl after howl shows his deep misery. 

Only a Siwash dog, gaunt, ugly and lean ; 
Does it matter at all what his ending has been ? 
Perhaps not ; but yet as we paddle along 
Commingling life's struggles with story and song, 
Too clear in the pauses I hear on the wind, 
That dumb brute's appeals, as we left him behind. 

WHAT THE BELLBUOY SAYS. 

Near the entrance to San Diego harbor, Cal., there is a large 
buoy with a fog bell on top, to warn sailors of their proximity 
to dangerous shoals. It was while on a vessel passing within 
earshot of the bellbuoy that these lines were composed. 

Far out on the surf of a rockbound coast, 

The bellbuoy lonely tolls, 
And utters its weird, uncanny boast 

O'er the deep's uncounted ghouls. 

[ 39 ] 



It rises and falls with the restless tide, — 
No sea can immerse its song; 

The wind and the wave alike defied, 
But strengthen its dong ding dong. 

Tolling, tolling, patiently tolling, 
Over the billows swelling and rolling, 
Dong ding dong, dong ding dong, 
Look to your helm, your course is wrong ; 
Dong ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, 
This is the bellbuoy's lonely song. 

Many a mariner shrouded in fog — 

Feeling his doubtful way — 
Relies to his cost on compass and log, 

Till warned by that timely lay. 
We too might be warned as we enter the mist 

On Life's beclouded main, 
For a voice in our bosom, if we but list, 
Is singing the self-same strain. 

Tolling, tolling, patiently tolling, 

Over Life's billows swelling and rolling, 

Dong ding dong, dong ding dong, 

Look to your helm, your course is wrong; 

Dong ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, 

This too is conscience's whispered song. 

THE LAND OF THE RISING SUN. 

(Written in North Bend, Oregon, in the Winter of 1891) 

They may talk of the West, of the wild, woolly West, 

With its valleys and mountains of gold. 
Where the bear and the beaver alone can molest 

The miner who digs in its mould ; 
Yet, in spite of its wonders, its wealth, and its weald, 

E'en though they be ten times increased, 
To my sad, aching heart, they can never impart 

The joys that were mine in the East. 

[ 40 ] 



It was there that I first saw the light of the day, 

And when boyhood upon me had crept, 
Where I rambled and gamboled, or, tired out with play, 

On pillows of innocence slept ; 
Where in youth, somewhat sobered, in booklore I delved 

To find out its treasures and worth, 
Or in social debate with companions sedate, 

On subjects abstruse have held forth. 

It was there that young Cupid discovered my heart, 

And despite all my struggles and wiles 
Sent with unerring aim his most dangerous dart, — 

For I've been ever since in his toils ; 
'Twas there, too, ambition first harrowed my brain, 

And before I was even aware, 
Set me chisel in hand, carving futures in sand, 

And building up castles in air. 

It is there that my sister, kind-hearted and true, 

Plods peacefully onward through life; 
And 'tis there that my brother bade early adieu 

To earth's pleasure and passion and strife ; 
It is there 'neath the sod, all oblivious to care, 

That my father and mother lie low, 
While the grass o'er their graves, in the breeze gently 
waves 

And beckons wherever I go. 

Though to far foreign climes my fleet fate I pursue, 

Still my thoughts ever backward do roam, 
And I often recall my last ling'ring adieu 

To the friends in that dear distant home ; 
And I sigh for a time which will certainly come, 

W r hen my longings and wand'rings have ceased ; 
Then its thither I'll fly, there to settle and die, 

Near my dear native home in the East. 



[ 41 ] 



THE EVOLUTION OF NOBILITY. 
The Iron Age. 

In the times of Norman William 

He who fain would be a lord, 
Had to fight his way to glory, 

And with blood bedew his sword. 
Then — according to the Saxons — 

Greatest peers were greatest knaves ; 
And they were the noblest Barons 

Who had filled most patriot graves. 

The Brazen Age. 

In the days of much wived Henry, 

And the days of second Charles, 
Love became the happy medium 

That transformed the rogues to Earls. 
Were you then a humble Mister, 

You your lowly lot must bear, 
Till you got a pretty sister 

Or a daughter that was fair. 

The Golden Age. 

But the sword has lost its savor ; — 

Love and business sometimes clash ; — 
If you'ld now be high in favor, 

You must pay the price in cash. 
Lenient smiles are not unwelcome ; 

Nor for that a warrior's suit ; 
Yet if you can buy a Dukedom — 

You can have the rest to boot. 



[ 42 ] 



JUBILEE ODE. 

Written in Montreal, Canada, on June 21, 1887, in commemo- 
ration of the fiftieth anniversary of the crowning of Victoria, 
queen. 

Blow loud and long the trumpets, 

Let music fill the air ; 
Rejoice, rejoice, ye patriots; 

Shake off all toilsome care. 
Come forth, ye faithful subjects, 

And shout the glad'ning strain ; 
Sing out the glorious gospel — 

Victoria still doth reign. 

Through fifty long and changing years, 

With firm, yet loving hand, 
She's carried out a nation's will, 

And boldly ta'en her stand ; 
Her sway is felt o'er land and wave, 

And many a distant shore 
This day resounds with notes of praise 

For her whom we adore. 

Then let us all in unison 

Sing out the joyful tune; 
Our queen in truth wears golden crown, 

This twenty-first of June. 
Come all ye loyal maidens, 

Chant our triumphal glee ; 
With one accord we'll celebrate 

Our Sov'reign's Jubilee. 

CANADA. 

Oh Canada, thou fairest child, 

Of Britain old and strong; 
A home-proud bard thy woodnotes wild 

Would crystallize in song : 

F 43 ] 



Thy realm so healthy, rich and vast 

Is lapped by many a sea ; 
Thy lakes and rivers unsurpassed 

Are emblems of the free. 

Thy mountains filled with wealth untold 

High up in air do rise ; 
Their snow cap'd tops in mists of gold 

Are hidden from our eyes. 
Thy woodlands bloom with lordly pines, 

And maples fresh and green. 
Thy valleys, cover'd o'er with grain, 

Are smiling with its sheen. 

May Peace, Prosperity and Power, 

Be thine for evermore ; 
May staunch Integrity, thy dower, 

Be known from shore to shore : 
May thy good name ne'er tarnish'd be 

By tyrant's cruel hand : 
This, Canada, I wish for thee, 

My own, my native land. 

OLD IRELAND FOREVER. 

Written for my Irish friends, R. J. H. and J. A. M. 

Though Burns and Scott with poets' skill 
Have famous made each Scottish rill ; 
Though Hogg makes many a bosom thrill, 
I must confess, I'm Irish still. 

Though England, with unwonted zeal, 
To Shakespeare's genius may appeal ; 
Though she may proud of Dickens feel, 
I love the land of Swift and Steele. 



[ 44 ] 



Though Frenchmen laugh at Moliere's mirth, 
Or read of Hugo round their hearth: 
Though Germans talk of Gcethe's worth, 
I'm from the land of Goldsmith's birth. 

Though Yankees, with a patriot smile, 
May praise Longfellow's winning style, 
Or talk of Irving all the while, 
I'd fain have Moore my hours beguile. 

Though poets near and far abroad 
Their home and country well may laud, 
I still with fervor pray that God 
Will bless my own dear Erin's sod. 

THE CITY OF FLOWERS 

Epistle from the people of Palm Beach, Florida, to their less- 
favored brethren in the North. 

All you who dread Winter, with what it implies, 

In the far away realms of Jack Frost; 
And you who are stricken when Dame Nature dies, 

And would fly from her snows at all cost; 
And you, too, who toil, yet are tired of the strife, 

And think you've earned leisure to spare; 
And you who are seeking a new lease of life 

But can find no environment fair; 

Oh say, won't you come to our City of Flowers— 

To our homes amid greensward and bloom; 
Where, while o'er your bleak land the blizzard cloud 
lowers, 

We are basking in bowers of perfume. 
Oh say, won't you come where the palms whisper low, 

And the tall oleanders wave free; 
Where the royal poincianas, in scarlet aglow, 

Are bowing and beckoning to thee? 

[ 45 1 



Oh say, won't you come and enjoy, while you may, 

The enchantment of Tropical skies ; 
And see the famed sunsets that hallow our day, 

And the love-storied moonlight we prize. 
Oh say, won't you come and breathe zephyrs of 
health, 

In a bourne where youth ceases its flight ; 
Where the days creep upon us with unperceived 
stealth, 

And we dream away care in a night? 

Oh come, and be charmed with our redbird's bright 
wing, 

With the plumes of the lovely bluejay; 
And list to the songs that the mockingbirds sing — 

Feel the throb of our whippoorwill's lay. 
Oh say, won't you come and be clasped in the brine, 

Of the Southland's warm billowy wave, 
As it flashes and glints in the merry sunshine, 

Or breaks at our feet as we lave? 

Won't you come and hook "kings" from our ocean- 
swept pier? 

Won't you troll for lake trout as we sail? 
Won't you follow the fawn in our Everglades near; 

And encamp on the Seminole's trail? 
Or come, if you will, and be one at the feast 

That we offer of grapefruit and pine; 
Of the orange and banana and mango — nor least, 

Of the pear avocado divine. 

Oh say, won't you come — or if Fashion's the wile 
That must lure you from Boreal Blast; 

We can boast in "The Season" society's smile, 
And of "functions" a daily repast. 



[ 46 ] 



Then come ! Oh, do come ! to our City of Flowers, 
And partake of our bliss we beseech ! 

In the North leave Earth's storms and exchange them 
for showers 
Of the Heaven that you'll find at PALM BEACH. 

HOTEL ROYAL POINCIANA. 

Royal Poinciana ! Hostelry complete ! 

Monarch of Inns and chief of all resorts ! 

Within thy walls, about thy beauteous courts, 
Meander guests from many a far retreat. 

Luxurious ease upon the grandest scale 
Presents itself to all who woo thy bliss ; 
Music and wine and mayhap Siren's kiss 

Conspire to hold them in thy pleasant pale. 

Strength, beauty, wisdom, coronets and power, 
Are all attracted by thy multi charms ; 
And in their freedom from outside alarms 

Inside thy gates would stretch each honeyed hour. 

Diamonds and sparkling eyes in conflict rare, 
Venus disdainful though Adonis pleads, 
Statesmen and magnates in unstudied deeds, 

Might well entice the most fastidious stare. 

But these are merely items in the bill, 
Relieved by backgrounds in some palm tree grove, 
Where golfers gather, or where nimrods rove, 

And catch complainings of the whippoorwill. 

Thy ball room floor, where happy couples meet, 
With grace and chivalry revives the eyes ; 
Thy vast rotunda while "The Season" vies, 

The world concedes is "Fashion's very seat." 

[ 47 ] 



Royal Poinciana ! Millionaires' delight ! 

Goal of the tourist, antipodes of care ! 

Where is there Inn that can with thee compare? 
Where is resort where time makes quicker flight ? 

MUNYON'S ENCHANTED ISLE. 

Come all ye frost enshrouded, 

Come ye, by earthquake tost ; 
Come ye, by storm o'erclouded, 

And ye in blizzard lost ; 
From lowland and from highland, 

From mountain, vale and plain 
En route to Munyon's Island 

Come, join the crowded train. 

The way may seem to weary, 

The journey may be long; 
But what at first is dreary, 

Will end in flowers and song. 
For in a dreamy ocean, 

Beneath Floridian skies, 
The Isle of our devotion 

In tropic grandeur lies. 

Chameleons in the banyans 

Display their opal hues ; 
And redbirds vie with bluebirds 

Their brightness to diffuse ; 
Orange blossoms scent the breezes 

That waft o'er land and sea ; 
While song of mocker pleases 

And fills the air with glee. 



[ 48 



Tall palms are proudly waving 

A welcome to the host, 
To test Hotel Hygiea — 

The gourmet's loudest boast. 
To come and try the fishing, 

The boating and the views; 
And thus instead of wishing, 

IN FACT dull care to lose. 

From out Hygiea's watchtower 

You'll see Worth's ebbing tide 
Pass gaily thro' the Inlet 

To swell Atlantic wide; 
You'll see great ocean liners 

Upon the near gulf stream, 
Low down by treasure laden, 

Drag trains of smoke and steam. 

The shell-strewn shore lies whitening 

As o'er its length you scan, 
From Coniff's Island hermitage 

To lone Manalapan ; 
At Jupiter, the lighthouse 

Stands out by night or day, 
While yonder is the Everglades, 

A few short miles away. 

You'll see Mangonia pine fields 
And Riviera's groves; 

And fancy woodnymphs sporting 
In fair Lantana's coves. 

Here Juno's sawgrass marshes, 
There Hypoluxo's farms, 

Or gay Palm Beach in easier reach- 
All lend their varied charms. 



[ 49 ] 



Then, come ye frost enshrouded, 

And ye by earthquake tost ; 
And ye by storm o'erclouded 

And ye in blizzard lost ; 
From lowland and from highland 

From mountain, vale and plain ; 
Come rest on Munyon's Island 

And renewed youth obtain. 

CAST UP BY THE SEA. 

Just above high water mark on the beach at Boca Ratone, 
Palm Beach County, Florida, there is a lonely grave in which lie 
the remains of a young woman washed ashore some years ago. 
There was no clue whatever as to her identity or as to whether 
it was a case of shipwreck or suicide, and so to save the County 
expense the sheriff ordered her buried close to the place where 
she was found. 

At Boca Ratone, where the beach is wide, 
And the surf breaks fierce on the flowing tide ; 
From billowy depths as they toss and roar — 
The form of a woman was washed ashore. 

From billowy depths of unlimited sea — 

How far she had come was a mystery ! 

No loved one had followed to whisper her worth — 

To tell of her country — to tell of her birth. 

Alone had she drifted from vacant deep — 
Alone and all silent in Death's blank sleep : 
'Twas nought to her now that the fickle wave 
Had even refused her a watery grave. 



Nor nothing indeed that the shifting sand, 
And the unsought aid of a stranger's hand, 
Had offered a haven of rest at last 
On the flowery land where her corse was cast. 

[ 50 ] 






Whatever her story — how weary or sad, 
How noble and earnest, how awful, how glad : 
It is here at an end and the glancing foam 
Weeps misty tears by her last, long home; 

And the swaying palmettoes that shelter her bed, 
To the winds make moan o'er the unknown dead ; 
While travelers hushed by the ocean's boom, 
Hear sermons from God at that lonely tomb. 

DELRAY TO PROSPER IN SPITE OF THE 
DEVIL. 

An application of the art of poetry to the science of developing 
real estate. Delray is a Michigan Colony located 18 miles south 
of Palm Beach, Florida, and, owing to its central location close to 
the Everglades, is rapidly forging ahead. It is the author's 
pleasure to own some of the Earth at Delray, and in develop- 
ing the same, used the following verses as an advertisement: 

The Devil came to me one night in my dreams, 
And addressed me with fire in his eye, 

And asked me why I was frustrating his schemes, 
And assured me his vengeance was nigh. 

With the utmost of meekness I told the old gent, 

He surely had made some mistake ; 
I had no intent to do aught he'd resent 

And I could not recall any "break." 

Said he (and his words fairly sizzled with heat) 

"You are helping to prosper my foe ; 
"You are building up places where I have no seat 

"And where I'm denied the least show." 

"Denied the least show ! Where you have no seat ! 

"What mean you great Satan I pray?" 
"I mean," and blue flames seemed to stream from his 
feet, 

"YOU ARE MAKING A TOWN OF DELRAY !" 

[ 51 ] 



"Me make a town! Don't fool yourself Nick, 

"I'm simply the handmaid of Fate." 
"Too true," said the Devil, "and that makes me sick, 

"And is why I now threaten my hate." 

"So remember, though Hell cannot stop Delray's 
growth, 

"Because it is bound to succeed. 
"Unless You desist (and then followed an oath) 

"I'll get knockers to make you give heed." 

"Then," said I, "if Delray is dead sure of success, 

"I care not a straw for your threat : 
"Let the knockers begin with their knocks and their din, 

"I can stand it if they can you bet/' 

With this parting thrust I awoke, and behold ! 

Old Nick had quite vanished away ; 
But he made good his threat, for his agents are yet 

Knocking vainly fast growing Delray. 

CARRY A HIGH IDEAL. 

Carry a high ideal. Better on crusts to feed 
Than give the tempter heed. Better a humble cot 
That is yours by honest lot, than live in a palace fair 
With turrets high in air, if its foundation stones 
Must cover victims' bones — were purchased with 
others' blood. 

Carry a high ideal. Better to not believe 
Than like hypocrite deceive. Better a heathen's fear, 
If in that you can be sincere. Better to grope in doubt 
Hoping some pathway out; than in conformist pew 
For a God, you never knew, to chatter a parrot's praise. 



[ 52 



Carry a high ideal. Better a single life 
Than an unhonored wife. Better to stand and lean 
Over an empty chair, dreaming who might be there, 
Than to build a home and throne and on that throne 

of home 
Place one who is not queen — make all that's real unreal. 

Carry a high ideal. Better like martyr wracked 
Than famed for wrongful act. Better to live unknown, 
Unfriended and alone, but with no conscience sting — 
Than be a guilty king by tyranny encrowned — 
Than be the lord renowned of a land where might is 
right. 

Carry a high ideal. Better to fix your eye 

On blue ethereal sky and, ere you reach it, die — 

Than through your lengthened days be content with 

lower gaze. 
Better to even fail in an aim of lofty scale 
Than where the end is less to obtain complete success. 

NATURE'S COMFORTERS. 

Babies, and music, and flowers ; — 

Tokens of infinite love — 
Coming like soft summer showers, 

Fresh from the heavens above : 
These, in our moments of sadness, 

Temper our sorrows with joy, 
Fill our lone hearts with their gladness, 

Banish all baneful alloy. 



f 53 ] 



Delicate roses and lilies : 

Buttercups, glistening with dew 
Dear little daffodowndillies ; 

Violets, hiding from view : 
These prove their Maker's protection : 

Promise His provident powers : 
Kindle each finer affection ; 

Solace our loneliest hours. 

Touches of ecstatic passion; 

Whispered suggestions of woe ; 
Breathings of coming elation; 

Mem'ries of long, long ago : 
These into harmony blended, 

Aided by angelic art, 
Lighten the loads that offended, 

Melt e'en the stoniest heart. 

Innocent, infantile charmers, — 

Flowers and music combined, — 
Smiling faced, dimpled disarmers, 

Ruling both matter and mind : 
Plucked from the meadows of heaven ; 

Cooing in melody sweet ; 
These are (in tenderness given) 

God's antidote for deceit. 

Babies, and music, and flowers, — 

Tokens of infinite love — 
Coming like soft, summer showers, 

Fresh from the heavens above : 
These, in our moments of sadness, 

Temper our sorrows with joy, 
Fill our lone hearts with their gladness, 

Banish all baneful alloy. 



[ 54 ] 



A POET'S PLIGHT. 

This poem is the recollection of an experience which the author 
once went through near Portland, Oregon. It was undoubtedly a 
punishment meted out by Providence for a more than ordinarily 
glaring lack of foresight. 

The friends referred to in the last verse are B. E. and J. S. 
Lyster, then of Coos County, Oregon, and formerly of Richmond! 
Quebec, Canada. 

Broke! Broke! Broke! 

Was the lot of a wandering bard; 
Broke! Broke! Broke! 

In a city where nobody cared; 
Broke! Broke! Broke! 

And in misery, hunger and rags, 
He tried hard to get work, 
The dishonor to shirk 

Of being imprisoned with "vags." 

Hope ! Hope ! Hope ! 

Could he only get out of the town; 
Hope! Hope! Hope! 

He might then escape poverty's frown; 
Hope! Hope! Hope! 

But how best was the thing to be done? 
He must certainly walk, 
For his long-hoarded stock 

To the drainings was now nearly run. 

Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! 

Without e'en a change to his back; 
Tramp ! Tramp ! Tramp ! 

O'er the ties of a hard, stony track; 
Tramp ! Tramp ! Tramp ! 

Till his old clothes began to wear out; 
Then with feet almost bare, 
And with husks for his fare, 

Highest hopes were soon turned into doubt. 

[ 55 ] 



Tired ! Tired ! Tired ! 

As he counted the ties on his way; 
Tired ! Tired ! Tired ! 

Still he plodded along, day by day; 
Tired ! Tired ! Tired ! 

And as weeks followed others along, 
Was it wonder he sighed 
O'er the grave of his pride? 

Or that plaintive and sad was his song? 

Sleep ! Sleep ! Sleep ! 

Would he ever again know its bliss? 
Sleep ! Sleep ! Sleep ! 

What misdeed had he sown to reap this? 
Sleep ! Sleep ! Sleep ! 

How it mocked through the long dreary night ; 
As with straw for a bed, 
In some dark, dingy shed, 

He lay cursing grim fate for his plight. 

Dreams ! Dreams ! Dreams ! 

Of the pleasures he knew in the past; 
Dreams ! Dreams ! Dreams ! 

O'er his troubles a halo they cast ; 
Dreams ! Dreams ! Dreams ! 

But alas! they were fitful and brief; 
And but served, while awake, 
Greater contrasts to make ; 

Thus adding more fuel to his grief. 

Sick! Sick! Sick! 

For misfortunes ne'er singly do come ; 
Sick! Sick! Sick! 

Lying thousands of miles from his home ; 
Sick! Sick! Sick! 

Thickly covered with vermin and rags. 

[ 56 ] 



May the horrors he knew 
Be the lot of but few, 
As he moaned on his pillow of bags. 

Bread ! Bread ! Bread ! 

Once again he must take to the road ; 
Bread! Bread! Bread! 

With fell Hunger his leader and goad ; 
Bread! Bread! Bread! 

But the people were deaf to his wants — 
He was only a tramp, 
And most likely a scamp — 

So they answered his pleadings with taunts. 

Friends ! Friends ! Friends ! 

After long weeks of tramping had passed ; 
Friends ! Friends ! Friends ! 

The poor poet found favor at last ; 
Friends ! Friends ! Friends ! 

Who generously gave him a start ; 
And a song in whose praise, 
To the end of his days, 

He will sing from the depths of his heart. 

MY FRIEND JACK. 

I had a boon companion, a tried and trusty friend ; 

Together we had played when we were boys ; 
Together had we rambled, nor recked that youth must 
end, 

And with it all its dearest cherished joys. 

His smile was all I wished for to crown a boyish feat ; 

To him I told whatever went amiss : 
Our secret thoughts were common, nor were our hopes 
complete 

Without each being party to their bliss. 

[ 57 ] 



But time is ever fleeting; no longer did we play 
The games that had beguiled each childish hour ; 

And as we grew to manhood with ev'ry passing day, 
Our boy love gained intensity and power. 

I gloried in his friendship — the purest gift on earth ; 

I felt that he was noble and sincere ; 
I proudly called him comrade, and recognized his worth 

In striving by his life my own to steer. 

But best of friends are parted — ambition cut the tie; 

I left him, travelled honors fain to earn : 
And being young and sanguine I scarcely heaved a sigh, 

Anticipating soon a sweet return. 

Three summers slowly faded, and still from him apart, 
My phantom fortune held me far away : 

But mem'ry's tender missives kept warm within my 
heart 
A corner where that friend had perfect sway. 

Then hopes grew bright and brighter — good times were 
drawing near : 

Soon back to him and home I would be bound; 
When suddenly a message made life a prospect drear : 

The comrade of my boyhood had been drowned. 



[ 58 ] 



TIES MASONIC. 

Shall distress assail a brother 

Whom we've promised to befriend? 
Shall the tear of wife or mother 

Fall and have no other end? 
Shall a cry of hunger reach us 

From the starving child of one, 
Whose thin, grave-blanched lips beseech us 
To recall, "the widow's son?" 

Ties Masonic — Ties Masonic — 

These indeed are ties that bind : 
Melancholy vows and holy 

Brother's needs bring to our mind. 

Shall we wait till Pride has broken, 

And Want stretches forth its hand? 
Shall we spoil the friendly token 

With rebuke and reprimand? 
Shall aid go forth as mere duty 

To the victims that insist? 
Scorn such thought for then the beauty 

Of Masonic aid is missed. 

Let us search by stealth for troubles 

Lurking in our brother's home; 
Do not let him make it double 

And a suppliant become. 
When we find it, let us measure 

How best to relieve each need : 
And in duty show our pleasure — 

That is Masonry indeed. 



[ 59 ] 



\ 



SAILOR'S SONG. 

Land ! land in sight ! See Belle Isle light ! 

Heave ho, my lads, heave ho ! 
Eyes wet with joy — ripe lips ahoy 

Heave ho ! heave ho ! heave ho ! 
One more short day upon the main 
And then we'll be on land again, 

Heave ho ! heave ho ! 

The tossing sea is full of glee, 

Heave ho, my lads, heave ho ! 
It gives us health, it gives us wealth ; 

Heave ho ! heave ho ! heave ho ! 
But wealth and health and glee galore 
Are only earned for use on shore. 

Heave ho ! heave ho ! 

We love to brave the flashing wave, 

Heave ho, my lads, heave ho ! 
There's nerve and power where tempests lower, 

Heave ho ! heave ho ! heave ho ! 
But who would live a sailor's life 
If sailors had nor home, nor wife? 

Heave ho ! heave ho ! 

Let all who will their stories tell, 

Heave ho, my lads, heave ho ! 
Of bliss in store mid ocean's roar; 

Heave ho ! heave ho ! heave ho ! 
But when sea joys are put to test 
The joy of sighting land is best. 

Heave ho ! heave ho ! 



[ 60 ] 



TO MY WALKING-STICK. 

An address supposed to be spoken by a dying bard. 

Time honored trophy, friend in life's decline ! 
Here list the praises of the tuneful nine. 
Full oft I've tried thee, yet like tempered steel, 
Still found thee faithful or in woe or weal. 
Now ere deserted by the fleeting muse, 
Loud let me sing thee and my zeal excuse. 

Dim in my memory through the distant years ; 
Dim yet distinctly I discern the tears, 
Shed from these eyes when, that I might be great, 
Hard on my shoulders I first knew thy weight; — 
Since a wise father, in all else so mild, 
Thought that to spare the rod must spoil the child. 

Soon older grown, nor bearing malice long; 
With you as mine I thread the giddy throng; 
Swinging with jaunty air my new-found mate, 
Aping the actions of the seeming great ; 
Till led by pride I think each curious stare 
Proves me resistless to the gazing fair. 

Now undeceived, nor used to useless load, 
Often I've left thee at some friend's abode; 
Where back I trudge still loth to lose the toy, 
Given by a parent to his hopeful boy. 
Given as a keepsake ere its worth is guessed; 
Nor known how truly it would stand time's test. 

Yet soon I learn that in the hour of need, 
When, urged by envy or despair or greed, 
Some ruffian chooses to become my foe, 
With you beside me and your knotty woe, 
I need not fear assailant's hungry hand ; — 
Since none dare tempt too far my magic wand. 

[ 61 ] 



Often, ah, often in the midst of strife, 
Have you lent succor to my wavering life ; 
For aging limbs on you could always count 
As up the crumbling steep fate bade me mount ; 
And as the years rolled on with ceaseless tide, 
In darkening pathways you have been my guide. 

Now, since the way fast leads me to life's goal; 
Those who survive may ease a hovering soul, 
If, when I'm gathered to the life to come; 
And my remains are laid within the tomb; 
They close beside me with loved care will deign 
To place that oldest friend — my faithful cane. 

TO MY TRUNK. 

Thou dumb companion on my wandering way ! 
Kind, mute consoler, when from home I stray ! 
For thee, good Trunk, my grateful muse takes wing, 
That all with me thy praises true may sing. 
Why do I prize thee? Ask me rather why, 
So long I've prized nor sung thee to the sky. 
Was it not you, who, in my tender years, 
I longed to own yet had no coin but tears ; 
Till, when with age, stray dimes to dollars grew, 
Each one was saved; then glad exchanged for you? 
Forget it ? No ! That happy, happy day, 
Still comes to mind when 'neath thy lid first lay : 
My cherished top, my jackknife, and my ball; 
My marble wealth and boyhood's treasures all ; 
Nor yet must I omit to tell the glee, 
When you were locked, I felt to hold the key. 
Such joys soon pass ; ambition interfered ; 
Into the world my wayward bark I steered. 
And as I left my father's favored home, 
You — only you — came out with me to roam. 
Afar we sped, my silent trunk and I, 

[ 62 ] 






Now here, now there, our fortunes did we try ! 
Each place I went my first thought was of thee, 
In turn for which I had your sympathy. 
When spent and weak with life's unending feud ; 
When tired and faint, I sighed in mournful mood; 
From out your depths how often have I drawn 
Cheer, warmth and memories of the days long gone. 
Close by my bed, wherever I have been, 
All my most private acts, you, Trunk, have seen ; 
Yet unlike other friends, all that you know, 
Sleeps in your shattered frame sacred from foe. 
Dear battered box, no odds how worn or old, 
Deep in my heart an honored spot you hold. 
Be not cast down if other trunks look new; 
I will, for service past, still cling to you. 

THE "BEAVER." 

On some rocks near the entrance to Burrard Inlet, B. C, lies 
all that remains of the "Beaver." the pioneer steamer of Ameri- 
ca's Pacific Coast. Naturally enough, considering her age, she 
is not a vessel of very large tonnage; while her machinery and 
accommodation, though a marvel at the time of construction, 
are to a modern eye of the very rudest description. Not- 
withstanding these facts, however, the old fossil may very justly 
be termed the fore-runner of civilization in British Columbia, 
for prior to her appearance, the valley of the Fraser and the 
province generally for that matter, was the haunt only of bears 
and of Indians.* 

Beside Trade's brisk and busy way, 

The Beaver, stranded, lies; 
Her storied timbers, ocean's prey, 

Or greedy vandal's prize. 
Her days of usefulness gone by, 

Upon her rocky bed, 
She starts and strains with creak and sigh, 

To find her glory fled. 

'Since this poem was written the action of a pitiless tide 
has completed the vessel's destruction. Not a vestige now 
remains of what was once "The Beaver." 

[ 63 1 



The world moves on with thankless jeer, 

Nor calls to mind the day 
When round Cape Horn, with welcome cheer, 

She steamed her maiden way. 
Pacific's pioneer — she faced 

To conquer ev'ry "how?" 
And dauntlessly through unknown waste 

Pushed firm her sturdy prow. 

From Golden Gate to Cariboo, 

Each miner owned her fame ; 
And loudly, when she hove in view, 

Sent heavenward her name : 
From far-off climes she brought them news, 

While stored within her hold, 
Were comforts that could re-enthuse 

Tired searchers after gold. 

She came the harbinger of good, 

While virgin forests bowed, 
But what she brought in hopeful mood 

Has long since proved her shroud. 
Her coming loosed a mighty wheel, 

Which, slowly turning round, 
Has crushed her hopes with heartless zeal, 

Nor uttered pitying sound. 

But dear old Beaver, such a fate, 

Is not alone your due ; 
There's naught exists but soon or late 

Will be neglected too. 
Reform and change, all laws derange; 

E'en modes of life and faith, 
Like you and I, come but to die : — 

There's nothing sure save Death. 



[ 64 ] 



THE GOOD OLD TIMES. 

While on my couch at even's close, 

My work and worry o'er, 
I lay me down in brief repose, 

To think of bliss in store ; 
My mem'ry flits to other climes, 

And musingly I sigh, 
To live again those good old times — 

Those good old times gone by. 

The pleasures that are mine to-day 

May seem without alloy ; 
New friends may be as blithe and gay ; 

New hopes as full of joy; 
But spite of present merry chimes, 

My thoughts still backward fly, 
To revel with those good old times — 

Those good old times gone by. 

My days were brighter then than now ; 

Ambition seemed more real ; 
111 luck I faced with dauntless brow, 

And scorned where now I kneel. 
But why bewail my lot in rhymes, 

And o'er spilt water cry? 
They've been and gone, those good old times- 

Those good old times gone by. 

And as the years quite tirelessly 

Speed onward while I creep, 
I've ev'ry reason to believe 

They'll steal my fitful sleep ; 
But I'll forgive such petty crimes, 

If, as I wakeful lie, 
I can recall those good old times — 

Those good old times gone by. 

[ 65 ] 



THE SEASONS. 

In high latitude. 

When wintry winds around us blow 

Their chill and icy blast; 
When earth is buried deep in snow, 

And autumn's charms are past ; 
'Tis then the joys, that most we prize, 

Like summer birds take wing; 
'Tis then, with vaguely longing hearts, 

We sigh for smiling spring. 

Spring comes ! and ev'ry glowing breast, 

Responsive to its power, 
With health and hope, twice doubly blest, 

New blossoms with the flower. 
The earth, aroused from wintry lair, 

Bedecks itself in green, 
And, glad to find its form so fair, 

Smiles forth — a perfect scene. 

But that bright orb, in whom sweet May 

Put all her early trust, 
Now stronger grown, with heated ray 

Lays May beneath the dust 
While hill and dale, no longer green, 

But yellow — stubbled — dry, 
Can ill repress their envy keen 

Of summer's placid sky. 

At last, among the tinted trees, 

With wild and wailing sound, 
The wind once more strips branches bare, 

And strews their leaves around ; 
The day again grows short and cool, 

And night — its destined bier — 
Now lingers long with misty shroud, 

To clasp the dying year. 

r 66 1 



IN MEMORIAM SIR MATTHEW BEGBIE 

The first Chief Justice of British Columbia, who died much 
lamented, at Victoria, B. C, June 12th, 1894. 

Now weep, Columbia, you have cause to mourn ; 
When he, who late administered your laws, 
Nor meted justice for the crowd's applause; 

Rude from your courts, despite your tears, is torn. 

His was a life of blameless truth and toil ; 

Tempered with mercy in the cause of right ; 

Rearing your province to its present might, 
From out a state of chaos and turmoil. 

Had he been lenient — had his hope grown cool ; 

When order seemed subservient to gold ; 

Then lawless men unused to be controlled, 
Would have held sway and let King Riot rule. 

But no ! Unswerving from his purpose firm ; 
He lived to see, resultant from his care, 
Peace reigning proudly o'er a province fair; 

And grateful thousands bless his guardian arm. 

Weep now, Columbia, and in sorrow pray, 
That Justice always o'er thy giant land, 
May never want a champion who will stand 

Faithful as Begbie, who has passed away. 



KEEP CLIMBING. 

Keep climbing ! keep climbing Life's boulder strewn 

height, 
Each early seen pinnacle ever in sight ; 
Though obstacles hinder, keep plodding along : 
With "higher, up higher" forever your song. 



[ 67 ] 



Keep climbing ! keep climbing ! be never cast down 
Though men who seem higher in scornfulness frown; 
Take courage, nor falter. Look forward — not back — 
Their methods but prove them upon the wrong track. 

Keep climbing ! keep climbing ! though weary and 

faint ; 
Keep upward and onward without a complaint; 
Though friends from the pathway in idleness stray, 
Your motto and duty is "Climb while you may." 

Keep climbing ! keep climbing ! nor offer to stand, 
Or rest in the shadow of what you have planned ; 
The way may be rugged, the mountain be steep, 
But once on the summit you safely may sleep. 

Keep climbing ! keep climbing ! make each move- 
ment tell, 
A thing that's worth doing is worth doing well ; 
The goal is above you, defeat is below, 
Keep climbing ! keep climbing ! to victory go. 

LIFE IS LIKE A GAME OF CHECKERS. 

The name "checkers" is a synonym for "draughts" in many 
parts of America. 

Play life's game as men play checkers : 

Watchful always of your chance ; 
Do not trust your all to wreckers 

To obtain some quick advance. 
No move ever should be taken 

Till the next is out of doubt ; 
Slight success to shame may beckon ; 

Petty loss may win the bout. 



[ 68 ] 



Courtesy disarms suspicion ; — 

But be careful of its wile; 
Hazard nothing on condition 

Of your foe's continued smile : 
Only one can win the guerdon ; 

Victory follows surest play; 
Trust no friend to bear your burden : 

Help yourself or lose the day. 

Yes, Life's but a game of checkers: 

Make no move you can't protect ; 
When a ship is in the breakers, 

Wreck and ruin wait neglect. 
Courtesy may lull suspicion 

W 7 ith its treacherous disguise ; 
But before you yield position : — 

Does position mean the prize? 

THE OVERSOUL. 

(Verses written after reading, with great pleasure, the Essay 
on the Oversoul, by Emerson). 

What a pleasure there's in knowing 
I'm a part of God's great plan ; 

What a priv'lege then in doing 
All for Him I truly can. 

What a balm there's in the knowledge 

That what I sincerely do, 
Is His Spirit working in me, 

And, confined, comes bursting through. 

Just to think that through each action 
Born of this — my warring frame, 

He, the great undimmed attraction, 
Speaks, my brothers to reclaim. 

[ 69 1 



That same God I see in mountains, 

In the plains and mighty sea, 
In great rivers, bubbling fountains, 

In the flowers, — is seen in me. 

When grim Passion tears my vitals, 

And I fight it to the death ; 
'Tis not me, but God that conquers, 

Me it was that gave up breath. 

And whene'er I work in earnest, 
And my deeds with glory shine, 

Thou, Most High, my power adornest ; 
With Thy help I'm made divine. 

Give me then, oh Great Creator, 
Greater power with flesh to cope ; 

Let me tear aside its hindrance, 
To give Thee more light, more scope. 

Wondrous theme, Great Soul of Nature, 
In Thy praise I'm filled with song; 

I, a mortal wayward creature, 
Still to Thee, in Thee belong. 

INTOLERATION. 

What makes men contemn the poor negro's black face, 

And hold Indians in detestation ; 
What makes them think Mongols quite foreign to grace ? 

It's racial intoleration. 

What first causes strife — then develops to war, 

What scatters abroad desolation; 
What robs our exchequers of treasure in store? 

It's national intoleration. 



[ 70] 



Why do men of party so arrogant grow, 

When theirs is the administration ; 
What makes them despise their opponents, and blow? 

Political intoleration. 

Why are we divided in classes and caste, 
According to wealth, birth or station ; 

And why do the higher, inferiors detest? 
Positional intoleration. 

Why do temp'rance advocates cause so much harm, 

Instead of their kind's elevation; 
What steals from their efforts the pleasure and charm? 

Fanatical intoleration. 

Why are there so many agnostics abroad, 

Who fain would profess adoration ; 
But scarcely know how — so beclouded is God? 

It's bigoted intoleration. 

Ah friends, 'tis a shameful, a lasting disgrace, 

A slur on our civilization, 
To think that in life's short and uncertain race 

We find time for intoleration. 

If "do unto others as we'ld be done by" 
Were really the world's inspiration ; 

How quickly it would from intolerance fly 
To practice divine toleration. 



[ n j 



MOORE, BYRON AND SCOTT. 

When an Irishman's dull, enervated and sad; 

When his heart calls for sympathy dear; 
When far from his country he wanders abroad 

On a soil that is foreign and drear; 
Whose strains can recall to his memory, home, 

And induce him his lot to endure, 
And do honor to Ireland where'er he may roam, 

Like the soul-stirring lyrics of Moore? 

When an Englishman, proud of the land of his birth, 

So conceitedly to it refers, 
And receives a reproach for the marvelous dearth 

Of the singers whom true passion stirs ; 
Just notice the light that comes into his eye. 

And illumines his features of iron, 
As he says with accents that reason defy : — 

"You've forgotten our passionate Byron." 

When a Scotchman — the task of his day being done 

Wants a moment of bliss less alloy ; 
And has laid aside Burns "Coila's own darling son," 

For diversion and spice in his joy; 
Whose pages are full of the patriot's song, — 

Of the battles that Scotchmen have fought? 
To whose minstrel raptures does genius belong, 

If not to the raptures of Scott. 

To the same decade's brilliance the world owes a debt, 

'Twill take decades of decades to pay ; 
For posterity sure will be loth to forget 

The loved names introduced in this lay. 
Three friends and three poets, all equal in fame — 

Though of different races begot ; 
Whose genius all nations now proudly proclaim, 

And thank God for Moore, Byron and Scott. 

[ 72 ] 



WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY. 

Washington's birthday! Hark, hark to the sound 

Of joy universal and glee; 
Washington's birthday! Still let it resound, 

With praises and proud jubilee; 
Washington's birthday! Oh why are we thrilled? 

Oh why do we hallow the name? 
Because since that day our hearts have been filled 

With that which puts tyrants to shame. 

Washington's birthday! What funds of delight 

Those words have power to recall; 
The champion of freedom, of justice and right 

Then came our hearts to enthrall. 
Sing loudly, ye patriots, shout out your joy, 

Commemorate liberty's birth ; 
Let cheers of rejoicing — with nought to alloy — 

Awake and encompass the earth. 

May the star-spangled banner he nurtured so well 

Still wave o'er a land for the free ; 
May the virtues he practised through our actions tell 

That virtue is freedom's best plea ; 
May Columbia's strand which he loved and revered, 

Still echo with song and applause 
For the hero, who, father of all that he reared, 

Gave us freedom and country and laws. 



[ 73 ) 



WHEN WE'RE DEAD AND GONE. 

(At the time this jingle was written aeroplanes were unknown, 
and the author prophesied wiser than he knew when he wrote 
the last verse.) 

Wondrous things may come to pass, 

When we're dead and gone, 
Nothing ancient can surpass, 

When we're dead and gone ; 
Stars in heaven may collide, 
And the sun with rapid stride 
May o'ertake the moon, his bride, 

When we're dead and gone. 

Gravitation's law may burst, 

When we're dead and gone, 
Which of mishaps is the worst, 

When we're dead and gone, 
Mortals from this world would fall, 
Into night and chaos sprawl, 
Where grim darkness would appal, 

When we're dead and gone. 

Earth its bowels may unfold, 

When we're dead and gone, 
And yield treasures yet untold, 

When we're dead and gone ; 
With eruptions mounts may quake, 
Rivers o'er their banks may break, 
Oceans may their beds forsake, 

When we're dead and gone. 

Men through earth may make a breach, 

When we're dead and gone, 
The Antipodes to reach, 

When we're dead and gone : 



[ 74 ] 



They in railway cars may roll 
Underground from pole to pole, 
Paying but a trifling toll, 
When we're dead and gone. 

Th'electric source for having found, 

When we're dead and gone, 
Inventors great may be renowned, 

When we're dead and gone ; 

And through its improved ray, 

Night may chase its shades away, 

And they'll live in endless day, 

When we're dead and gone. 

P'rhaps we may not need our wings, 

When we're dead and gone ; 
Or such like ethereal things, 
When we're dead and gone. 
Golden stairs to heaven may rise, 
Not in song as you'd surmise, 
But which angels won't despise, 
When we're dead and gone. 

People in machines may fly, 

When we're dead and gone ; 
Scaling heights of azure sky, 
When we're dead and gone. 
O'er the clouds they'll ride supreme, 
And what now does monstrous seem, 
May have faded to a dream, 
When we're dead and gone. 



[ 75 ] 



THE ROSCOE CLUB. 

When the author was about 19 years of age, three of kis 
most intimate Canadian friends formed with him the nucleus of 
a literary society. Chancing on their second or third evening 
to become interested in Washington Irving's sketch book, attention 
was fixed on his delightful little notice of Wm. Roscoe, Liver- 
pool's literary star. The high character and attainments of that 
gentleman, as eulogized by Irving, seemed almost the personifi- 
cation of the avowed objects of the little circle, and the company 
forthwith dubbed itself the Roscoe Club, in honor of him. 

On each happy Tuesday night, 

When the moon is shining bright, 
And the stars within the firmament do glow ; 

We convene the favored four, 

And with literary lore, 
We beguile the hours away in Club Roscoe. 

Though the rain in torrent falls, 
And the lightning's flash appals ; 

Though old Boreas a hurricane doth blow ; 
Still we gather 'round the board, 
On which choicest books are stored, 

And we spend the evening in our Club Roscoe. 

When the leaves all turning red, 

And the ripened fruit o'erhead, 
Both proclaim that Autumn's bliss we soon shall know ; 

Though our friends stroll up the road, — 

Arm in arm quite a la mode — 
We're content to pass our time in Club Roscoe. 

When the nights grow cold and long, 

And the winds blow fierce and strong, 
And the ground is hard and crisp with ice and snow ; 

We draw near the glowing grate, 

And with heart and voice elate, 
We discuss the future of our Club Roscoe. 



[ 76 ] 



When the Spring in garments green 

Changes fast the wintry scene, 
And to ev'ry living thing its gifts bestow; 

With new life and vigor filled, 

And as critics better skilled, 
Are the members of that dear old Club Roscoe. 

Though its roll contains but few, 

Yet each heart is stout and true, 
Which in after years the world will surely know ; 

And if time works all things well, 

As a prophet I foretell, — 
Famous far will be our little Club Roscoe. 

A COMPOSITION. 

Roscoe Club, the origin and objects of which have just been 
mentioned, on one occasion in the year 1888 demanded essays 
from its members upon the various phases of government in 
vogue during the present age. The Czar or absolute monarchy was 
the particular kind that fell to the author's lot. In the absence 
of any statistical knowledge upon the subject, this "Composition," 
which is self-explanatory, was utilized to fill up the gap. 

Dear friends, 'twas my duty to write out to-night, 
An essay of length on the Czar and his might ; 
And had I had power to do what I ought, 
An essay no doubt I to you would have brought ; 
But the subject you see had so much in its train, 
All my efforts to grasp it, I found were in vain ; 
So you'll please be content if what little I tell, 
You have known long ago perhaps perfectly well ; 
And as men have classed all "stale chestnuts" with crime, 
To make it seem new, I will tell it in rhyme. 

The Czar, we are told in the books used at school, 
Is a monarch who governs with absolute rule ; 
Not like our good queen at the beck and the call 
Of a Gladstone, a Churchill, a Bright or a Sal. ;* 

[ 77 ] 



But a king at whose bidding men die at the stake ; 
One word from whose lips can make all Europe quake. 
He has but to look, and faint hearts cease to beat ; 
He wills, and all Russia must cringe at his feet ; 
For justice his subjects appeal to the throne, 
It rests on his word and his judgment alone. 

But despite all his power, deny it who can, 

This tyrant of millions is only a man ; 

And as such, you doubtless have seen in the papers, 

How much he's harassed by those nihilist capers ; 

And although Fortune's child, he is in constant dread, 

Lest the moment deprive him of sceptre and head. 

With this, my dear friends, I'm afraid I must end, — 

No more to my verse has my knowledge to lend ; 

But mayhap if ever I travel to Moscow, 

I'll look up the Czar for the good of the Roscoe. 

^Salisbury. 

BOSKY DELL. 

While bending o'er my daily toil, 

Oppressed by city heat ; 
And breathing in the dusty soil 

Arising from the street ; 

Though bearing with resigned fate 

The noise of city life; 
In truth, at times, I'd fain vacate 

Its bustle and its strife. 

Before my eye bright visions pass 

Of fields and meadows green, 
Of yellow corn and waving grass, 

And humble rustic scene ; 



78 ] 



Till thoughts of brooks and shady nooks 

Soon o'er me cast a spell, 
And I recall the beauties all, 

Of dear old Bosky Dell. 

There stands the cottage, small and trim, 

Beside a lordly pine, 
That stretches o'er the roof a limb — 

Protection's surest sign. 

Its walls are decked with ivy green ; 

And roses sweet to smell, 
Within the dark rich foliage 

Luxuriantly dwell. 

A purling brook some yards away, 
O'er rocks glides rippling on ; 

And sings its sad incessant lay 
From break of dawn to dawn. 

No jarring noise the silence cleaves; 

All sounds are hushed and still ; 
The sighing wind, the rustling leaves, 

The music of the rill, 

Save that at times from leafy bower, 
High up some neighb'ring tree, 

The birds such floods of music shower, 
The grove is drenched with glee. 

Or when from distant meadow land, 

Some petted lambkin's bleat 
Is heard as 'round its sober dam 

It skips with tireless feet. 



[ 79 ] 



Some sweet breathed kine, 'neath friendly shade, 

In lazy languor lie, 
With munching mouth, and shaking head, 

And dreamy half-shut eye. 

But as this scene before me lies 

In panoramic view, 
Faint twinkling vapors slow arise, 

And twilight does ensue. 

Then O ! to see the grandeur now 

That spreads itself around : 
The moon from o'er a mountain brow 

With silver tints the ground ; 

The stars within her train appear, 

And soon the vault of night 
Is sprinkled o'er with jewels clear 

And diamonds sparkling bright. 

A still and awful silence takes 

Possession of the air; 
Till trees, and fields, and birds seem all 

In Nature's solemn care. 

O ! fain I would some more relate 

Upon this pleasing theme, 
But here I woke, and to my fate, 

Found Bosky Dell a dream. 



[ 80 ] 



ODE TO A SKULL. 

Every poet has patrons. The first person to patronize and 
encourage the boyish efforts of the author in the art of rhyming 
was Mr. J. B. Forbes, at that time of Montreal, but now a 
resident of Pt. Levi, Que. This gentleman was a passionate 
admirer of poetry, and could quote passages from Burns, 
Byron or Shakespeare by the hour. Seeing some of the author's 
earliest effusions by chance one day, instead of holding them up 
to the ridicule that he shamefacedly expected, Mr. Forbes, imme- 
diately took an interest in his scribblings, praised them up sky 
high, and as a test of the author's powers proposed that he 
imagine himself in a grave-yard with a skull that he had picked 
up from curiosity in his hand. The train of thought to which 
such an incident happened to give rise he desired him to put in 
rhyme, and, being his employer, as an incentive he kindly allowed 
what spare time he could afford during the remainder of the day 
for that purpose. Grateful for the well-meant flattery, and 
anxious to keep up his new reputation, by nightfall the author 
managed to have this concoction ready for his employer's amused 
perusal. It has several very palpable faults, but the author thinks 
the public may be interested in it as a production of his 16th year. 

Alas ! Alas ! how sad I feel 

When on this skull I gaze ; 
For 'neath its shell a something real 

Did dwell in brighter days, 
And thought or dreamed of future life 

Upon this world of sorrow, 
And battled with its sins and strife, 

In hopes of peace to-morrow. 

Perhaps ambition filled each vein 

Which through this brain did flow, 
And helped great schemes of future gain 

To start, and then to grow ; 
Maybe the wisest plans e'er made 

Took root within this head, 
And would have been before us laid, 

Had death not come instead. 



[ 81 ] 



Perhaps this may have been the skull 

Of someone of renown, 
Whose works of genius now are known 

To Earth's remotest town ; 
Or p'raps some conscience-stricken wretch 

Could have no solace here, 
And so mid suicidal itch 

Did end his life in fear. 

Perhaps, again, this once has been 

The head of some great wit, 
Whose faculties were ever keen 

To make some happy hit. 
Or was some idiotic mind 

Once hid beneath this shell, 
That to good sense was ever blind, 

Whatever else befell? 

Perhaps some farmer might this claim, 

If he were now on earth, 
Whose easy-going, honest aim, 

If known, might prove of worth; 
Or, may be, it did once belong 

To some unlucky devil, 
Who barely knew 'twixt right and wrong, 

But died mid maddest revel. 

Perhaps some sailor brave and bold, 

With jolly looks, and gay, 
Might once beneath this head have rolled 

Across the watery way ; 
Or p'raps some soldier fighting hard, 

Away from home and land, 
Had this from off his shoulders struck 

By some combatant's hand. 



[ 82 ] 



Perhaps it once encovered one 

Who, struggling for his right, 
Was killed before his work was done 

By main or money might ; 
Perhaps some coward base and mean 

(For all are base who cower) 
Might claim this cranium for his own, 

If heav'n would give him power. 

Maybe an honest pauper 

Did use this empty head, 
In pondering how, and when, and where, 

He'd get a crust of bread. 
Or p'raps it once was held erect 

By some vain, haughty man, 
Who cared not whom he crushed direct 

Beneath his selfish ban. 

In fact, with truth 'twere hard to guess 

To whom this skull belonged ; 
But then, for that I care not less, 

Nor would I see it wronged. 
The chances are it once did crown 

Some worthy, manly frame, 
Who cared not for a world's renown 

While he had his good name. 



MOTHER. 

Written in the author's 17th year in honor of one who had 
been called away three years after his birth. 

Dearest mother, whither art thou? 

Why have I been left alone? 
Why by thee was I forsaken, 

Ere thy worth was barely known? 



[ 83 ] 



Mother — darling, angel mother ! 

Can I never see you more? 
Have you gone from me forever. 

To that dark eternal shore? 



Will you not at my entreaty 
Once again to earth return? 

Why, oh why, I pray thee, mother, 
Am I left thy loss to mourn? 

How I've longed to have your guidance, 
Xone but God above can tell ; 

Just one look of kindness from you, 
Just to know you wish me well. 

When with grief and sorrow stricken, 
Then oh how I've yearned for thee ! 

That I might confide my troubles 
And receive your sympathy. 

And to think, I don't remember 
Even how you used to smile, 

Or how you with love maternal 
Did my baby hours beguile. 

Mother — dearest, darHng mother! 

How thy name alone can thrill ! 
Oh, that some divine inspirer, 

Would unfold to me thy will. 

TO THEE, OH GOD! 

(A Prayer) 

To Thee, oh God ! in my despair 

I pen this earnest heart-made prayer 

In hopes that Thou, who art divine, 
Wilt cleanse my soul and make it thine. 

[ 84 1 



I know I am not worth Thy thought, 
My very frame with sin is fraught : 

But still, because Thy work I am, 
For self-made wounds provide a balm. 

Give me a salve that sure will heal 
My broken spirit and my will. 

To Passion, God, I am a slave; 
A shield from it I fairly crave. 

Thou know'st my weakness and canst see 
The cure Thou shouldst prescribe for me. 

To curb myself in vain I've tried, — 
My loathed desire won't be denied. 

So now to Thee I humbly kneel, 

And pen the words Thou know'st I feel. 

In pity, God, look down and be 
A comforter and strength to me. 

Help me once more to raise my head 
In triumph o'er my passions dead. 

And then, oh God, through all my days, 
My very life shall sing thy praise. 

A PRAYER. 

Thy greatness, God, I cannot know, 

I cannot guess Thy powers ; 
But ev'ry earnest thought must show 
How I revere Thy works below 
Upon this world of ours. 

[ 85 ] 



If all omnipotent Thou art, 

As Nature seems to say; 
Oh, put the truth into my heart, 
And let me know I am a part 

Worth more to Thee than clay. 

And if, oh God, Thou art supreme, 

And rulest all that's here; 
May I be taught to do, not dream, 
Pray make me ever what I seem, 
And keep my soul sincere. 

Amen. 



MISERY. 

Blow on, ye northern winds, blow on, 
Let nothing cause your rage to stay; 

If mortals totter and look wan, 
What matters it ? — they are but clay. 

Make fiercer still your icy blast 
In fury though it never end; 

An angry sky with black o'ercast 
To mis'ry not a jot can lend. 

Shine on, in mock'ry, Sun, shine on, 
Your blazing heat around us spread; 

From darkest night bring forth the dawn, 
Or raise to life the winter's dead. 

Though mighty forests you may burn; 

Or cause deep rivers to run dry : 
If mortals but in sorrow mourn, 

Despite thy power they'll weep or — die. 



[ 86 ] 



A SONG FOR APPRENTICE ACCOUNTANTS. 

If you would accounting achieve — 

Keep books sans reproach, flaw or doubt 
You must debit whate'er you receive, 

And credit whatever goes out. 
Perchance it is "goods" that goes out, 

And Smith, Brown or Jones that comes in ; 
But see that you change things about 

If "goods" and not "custom" you win. 

Since to share in a bookkeeper's sweets- 
To shun a bad bookkeeper's woe : 

You must debit your daily receipts 
And credit with care your outgo. 

When it's "goods" or "cash" you obtain, 

Charge up such accounts what you get ; 
While if these go out, it is plain, 

You charge who gets into your debt. 
For whatever comes in you receive, 

Though perhaps it's a debtor's account ; 
And whatever goes out — pray believe — 

Has a credit somewhere that amount. 

So to shun a bad bookkeeper's woe — 
To share a good bookkeeper's sweets ; 

You must credit with care your outgo, 
And debit your daily receipts. 

But if into debt you should go : 

For his trust you must credit your friend ; 
And when you pay up what you owe ; 

Credit "cash" with all money you spend ; 
That is : he who pays you the gold, 

Or gives you the goods on account, 
Should be credited what he has sold 

Or has paid to the total amount. 

[ 87 ] 



For remember, though life has its sweets 
They're embittered with chagrin and woe, 

Till you debit your daily receipts, 
And credit with care your outgo. 

A SPEECH. 

Supposed to be made at the opening of Lindsay Collegiate 
Institute, January 25th, 1889. It was published at the time in 
the Lindsay "Victoria Warder," a local newspaper, and in that 
way served its purpose. 

I do not wish with long oration, 
And weighty tedious demonstration, 
To make you, by your yawns, betray 
Fatigue, on this our natal day; 
Nor do I, with a pompous style, 
Intend to cause an inward smile; 
For by your looks and silent nudges, 
I fear, alas! you're able judges; 
So, if you've no applause to spare, 
Pray with my feeble efforts bear. 
Just listen, and appear at ease — 
For know, kind friends, I wish to please. 

There was a time in ages past 

When learning was a stigma cast 

By people, on those favored few, 

Who, seeking wisdom, waded through 

The musty depths of learned lore 

That sages wrote in books of yore ; 

But later on, as time progressed, 

And evolution ne'er at rest 

Caused civ'lization to advance, 

And gave the vulgar crowd a chance 

To taste the sweets in learning's train, 

And showed the heights they might attain, 

A wondrous change at length took place; 

And those, who once with sneering face 

[ 88 ] 



Had laughed to scorn the few who tried 
To pluck the fruit to fools denied, 
Became as eager to devise 
A means by which they too might rise ; 
Content no longer to be fools, 
They built them colleges and schools 
Wherein their off-spring might be taught 
The truths which they themselves had not. 

But still they scarce conceived their worth ; 

Of knowledge yet there was a dearth. 

Their colleges were far from good ; 

The schools they built were plain and rude ; 

They let them fall into decay, — 

Nor raised a hand Time's rage to stay — 

Till plaster from the ceilings fell ; 

The walls by cracks their age could tell ; 

And windows with their lights half gone 

Had used up copies fastened on ; 

Displaying both the pupil's drift 

And parents' economic thrift; 

And he who failed to be of use 

In other callings more abstruse 

Was straightway hired with task assigned 

To rear and train the youthful mind. 

Yet lo ! with ne'er despairing tread 

Still onward evolution sped ; 

And now, to-day, with conscious pride 

We point you to its wondrous stride ; 

An ample proof, this building stands, 

The work of well skilled artists' hands; 

No proven comfort does it lack, 

A model school from front to back; — 

A palace 'tis — to call it less 

We would the law of truth transgress. 

[ 89 ] 



Each class-room like a parlor made 
Incites our youth to mount that grade — 
(So rough and steep as sages claim) — 
Which leads to knowledge and to fame. 

The school in which we now are met 
For building may you ne'er regret ; 
Though it has been a heavy strain, 
And has to many seemed a bane, 
Yet here it stands a monument 
Of all the time and means you've spent. 
Its pupils all and each your debtor 
Confess they wish for nothing better. 

And now, proved friends of education, 
Before I close this dedication : 
For all your previous thoughtful aid 
To make this building as 'tis made ; 
And also here I beg to mention 
For present patient, kind attention, 
Accept my thanks, and those to boot 
Of Lindsay Collegiate Institute. 



HOW JOHN TOD CONQUERED THE SHU- 

SHWAPS. 

A true tale of British Columbia. 

John Tod was a furtrader fearless and bold, 

As f urtraders always should be ; 
But of all brave furtraders of whom we are told, 

The bravest and boldest was he. 
In years long gone by, John had lived in the East ; 

And from that far clime had he come, 
Over billow and prairie, on boat and on beast, 

To make new Columbia his home. 



[ 90 ] 



He came from the East to the wild, woolly West ; 

When its mountainous wastes were untrod ; 
That he might with adventure lend life a new zest, 

And roam o'er the unbroken sod. 
And there in a fort on a well-chosen site, 

Where the Thompson and Frazer combined;* 
John's fame spread abroad, among Indian and white, 

As a giant in body and mind. 

For John was no pigmy. Six feet from the earth 

His head sat in archest content, 
O'er a pair of broad shoulders of such solid worth 

They looked as though rough-hewn from flint. 
His body was lanky, and gaunt was his cheek — 

He was no Apollo, 'tis true; 
But a stronger or lither in vain might you seek; 

John Tod found his equal in few. 

Now about Thompson post lived six nations of braves, 

And no carpet warriors were they ; 
From the Coast to the Rockies were hundreds of graves 

Where silent their enemies lay. 
The Shushwaps were terrors to white man and red ; 

No coward dared halt in their path ; 
But look at them crossways and hungry for blood, 

The Shushwaps would rise in their wrath. 

But Tod was a trader, and though hemmed around, 

With but four fellow whites at his side ; 
What cared he for Shushwaps? He'd hold to his 
ground, 

And would knuckle to none though he died. 
So there in their midst he gave trinkets for furs ; 

And settled disputes as he chose ; 
As king of the forest he soon won his spurs ; 

And respect, both from friends and from foes. 

*Now the town of Kamloops, B. C. 

[ 91 ] 



But it happened at last that the Shushwaps grew tired 

At his bold usurpation of power : 
This Tod must be crushed and his countrymen hushed, 

Though the heavens above them should lower. 
So they plan and they plot and they scheme and they 
threat 

Till at length comes an opportune chance ; 
They will murder the band when with packtrain in hand, 

No strong guarded fort gives defense. 

Through the region around goes the message of war 

On Tod and his chivalrous four ; 
And savages gather from near and from far, 

To dip their hands deep in his gore. 
But little they know of the men they oppose, 

In their savage desire for their blood 
They wist not the wiles of their civilized foes, — 

And for once lack of knowledge proved good. 

At a small level plain on the banks of the stream, 

Surrounded by brushwood and trees ; 
They gather in ambush to perfect their scheme, 

And wait for the prey at their ease. 
To wait for the prey that they think is their own ; 

For how can they miss such a prize? 
Their number is scores to their enemies' one : — 

This day, sure, the furtrader dies. 

But Tod was as wary and wily as brave ; 

His years at the front were not lost ; 
There were lives in his keeping no hazard could save, 

If in danger he heedlessly tost. 
So warned of the hundreds who ambush his way 

And knowing retreat was in vain ; 
And that wit and not muscle must carry the day : 

He thought of a daredevil plan. 

f 92 ] 



From a medicine chest, which he long had possessed, 

He first took a stock of vaccine; 
Which with studious care he concealed in his breast, 

Smiling grimly while tucking it in. 
To the men of his band he next issued command, 

That should fortune go hard with their chief, 
They must leave him to fate and beat hasty retreat, 

In hopes of thus gaining relief. 

Then off in the van on his charger he rode, 

Till the field of commotion was near; 
Where, beckoning the troop to remain in the wood 

And watch till his fate was made clear, 
He rose in his stirrups, put spurs to his steed, 

And alone from the well-hidden spot, 
With his arms high in air at a neck breaking speed 

He flew o'er the plain like a shot. 

Surprised at such daring the Indians rush out, 

Their bloodthirsty weapons in hand; 
Yet faltered to shoot as their foe faced about 

And raced near the place where they stand. 
So oblivious he seemed of his sentence to die : 

He surely was dreaming or mad; 
Or was he inspired by the Spirits on high? 

Was it skill from above he displayed? 

Would they shoot? Hardly yet. Curiosity goads, 

To see what the man will do next; 
So they wait and they watch and they watch and they 

wait 
^ Still growing more greatly perplexed. 
For now as he rushes like wind o'er the plain 

Tod adds to his tactics absurd, 
By groaning and moaning again and again, 
Though uttering never a word. 



[ 93 ] 



Throwing guns to the ground they gather around, 

Their features grown ghastly with fear ; 
The death dealing plot and the feud are forgot — 

What news does their enemy bear? 
They beg him to speak as he bounds o'er the mead, 

What harm does his sorrow portend? 
Has Scomalt* grown angry ? they anxiously plead ; 

Is she bringing the world to an end? 

Now Tod is your chance. If you falter you fail. 

The critical moment has come. 
Should your ruse be suspected you'll honestly wail. 

It's a case of succeed or succumb. 
He wheels to the left and he wheels to the right ; 

Then, reining his charger with care ; 
Through his teeth in hoarse accents of well-assumed 
fright, 

He hisses: "The smallpox! Beware!" 

"The smallpox" they echo in direst dismay; 

"The smallpox" rings out to the sky. 
No wonder the savages tremble and pray; 

No wonder they stagger and sigh. 
Scarce a decade has flown since by smallpox alone, 

Near half of their tribe was laid low; 
Nor cared it for prowess with dagger or gun, — 

The brave with the cowards must go. 

"The smallpox! The smallpox!" aloud they repeat; 

And the forest sends back the sad cry. 
"Is there nothing to stop the fell scourge" they entreat, 

Are we fated to fester and die?" 
"Not so," said our hero with well-feigned concern, 

"I came here to save you" he said ; 
"Let the bravest among you come forth in due turn, 

"And I'll free each from danger and dread." 

*Scomalt, a female deity, and the ruler of Heaven in the 
Shushwap religion. 

[ 94 ] 



With that he dismounted and penknife in hand, 

As though among brothers and friends, 
He scraped the right arms of the chiefs of' the band, 

And with vaccine their wholeness defends. 
Nor need it be said that he took special care 

To dig his knife deep in the skin, 
Of the chiefs whom he knew had had more than their 
share, 

In the plot to kill him and his kin. 

Completely outwitted, appeased, and disarmed, 

The savages do as they're bid; 
And not only left the furtrader unharmed; 

But paid him for all that he did. 
For they feel to a. man in their credulous way, 

That they've found a dear friend in their foe; 
Who in spite of their warlike and savage array, ' 

Had ventured to save them from woe. 

When each had been doctored, John chuckled in glee; 

Such precaution was doubly a cure; 
From a chance raid of smallpox they'd someday be free, 

While a peace their sore arms would ensure. 
Then back he returned to his followers' fold, 
. Not to loiter or weep you may ween; 
While from that day to this is the true story told : 

How Tod Fought his Foes with Vaccine. 

HUMANITY— A TOAST. 

Here's to humanity! Let us drink deep; 
Here's to its progress in waking and sleep. 
Drink to its weakness, that we may recall 
A minute ! A second ! And that may be all : 
Its units have perished in midst of the thought, 
But still prosper tasks that the race has begot! 

[ 95 ] 



Drink to humanity! Why should we not? 
Look at the wonders e'en frailty wrought : 
See the white peaks of Parnassus we've scaled ! 
See the far oceans our travelers have sailed ! 
Think of the thunderbolts proving our worth, 
Bearing men's thoughts to the ends of the earth. 

Drink to humanity ! See it at work ! 

Where is there task that the whole race will shirk? 

Look at the mountains of rock it has bored! 

Look at the heavens its bird-men have soared ! 

Tunnelling rivers — bridging the deep — 

Sowing, — and sowing for others to reap. 

Drink to humanity ! Loudly proclaim 
It and Divinity one and the same : 
Nothing can daunt it — no barrier restrain ; 
Where nature resists, its resistance is vain : 
We once had our limits, but that time is gone ; 
The universe wakes to Humanity's dawn. 



TO MY SWEETHEART PLUS 

I loved you my darling — when first I beheld you ; 

Your daintiness won me ere yet I had wooed; 
Your smile seemed like heaven and so surely thrilled me 

That soon I the only course open pursued. 

I loved you my darling — when later you promised 
That you and your charms would forever be mine; 

And in the bright hope of a future so glowing : 
What wonder I thought you a creature divine ? 

I loved you my darling — when tightly I pressed you, 
Close, close to my bosom a newly made bride ; 

And fonder, still fonder I loved and caressed you 
As daily you fashioned your place by my side. 

[ 96 ] 






But dearer, true helpmeet, each season has left you ; 

Though pangs of dread childbirth have scored your 
fair brow : 
Those furrows to me that much closer have cleft you — 

// ever I loved you my darling 'tis now. 

IN HONOR OF DR. JOHN GORRIE 

(Of Apalachicola, Fla., who invented Artificial Ice, in the Year 

1845) 

Give him a niche in the temple of Fame 
Give him his place and enhallow his name ! 
He, who in love for his suffering kind, 
Lent them the use of his wonderful mind : 
Pointed the way by unheard of device 
To make in the Tropics the purest of Ice. 

Give him a niche ! May his name never die ! 
Build him a monument stately and high. 
Who, in the ages, has equalled his thought? 
Who for his fellows such solace has brought? 
Think of the troubles his skill has allayed ! 
Think of the inroads on pain he has made. 

Give him a niche and enshrine it with flowers ! 
Honor the man with divinity's powers ! 
He who, no matter how sultry the day, 
Drove from damp foreheads the fever away : 
Pay quick a tribute that nobody shuns, 
To GORRIE — greatest of Florida's sons. 

TALLAHASSEE 

On the red hills of old Leon Tallahassee sits as queen, 
Winning subjects of whoever comes her guest; 

From her heights in all directions such a royal view is 
seen 
That we wonder was there ever place so blest. 

[ 97 ] 



On the streets the bearded liveoaks stretch around their 
hoary arms 
Blending beauty with the shadows that they throw ; 
And the sun forever shining helps to spread his tropic 
charms 
As beneath the shady boughs we come and go. 

Roses white and red and crimson and the pink crepe 
myrtle bloom 
Scatter round each home the loveliest of hues ; 
While magnolias and mimosas fill the air with their 
perfume 
Till the luxury of living cures the blues. 

Storied hills and fertile valleys vie to make one's life 
worth while 
And we saunter forth as student or as sage : 
Here are fields of corn and cotton reaching out for 
many a mile — 
Over there Wakulla fumes in smouldering rage. 

Here pecan and fig trees blossom, there swing stalks of 
sugar cane : 
Pomegranates add their lustre where they may ; 
And the air we breathe is laden with a conquest over 
pain, 
And an atmosphere of honor gilds the day. 

This is where the Prince lies buried — he who sought for 
quiet spot 
In the evening of his days to flee the world : 
Just beside him sleep the soldiers who for us and glory 
fought, 
And who died beneath the Southland's flag unfurled. 



[ 98 ] 



Yonder crest is where the chieftain after whom the 
Town is named 
And the braves he led to battle used to dwell ; 
While surrounding lies the County that, in justice surely, 
claimed 
A name that youth eternal would compel. 

On the red hills of old Leon Tallahassee sits as queen, 
Winning subjects of whoever comes her guest; 

The Capital of Florida she reigns by merit's sheen : 
And her poet pays his tribute with the rest. 

RUMINATIONS BY THE SIDE OF A FLORIDA 
SHELL MOUND 

At various places along the East Coast of Florida and occasion- 
ally in the interior are to be found mounds, mostly composed of 
shells laid in layers, but in which have been found fish and other 
bones, weapons, cooking utensils, and other articles that an anti- 
quarian might use to great purpose in weaving a most intelligible 
story of primeval America. In one of these mounds located at 
New Smyrna has been exposed the remains of a fort constructed 
of Coquina rock that may be the one constructed by Columbus on 
his second voyage to America in 1505. In that event Anthro- 
pologists may be able to most correctly conjecture the age of the 
various mounds, as at least six feet of shell covered the New 
Smyrna fort, and the stone work in its turn is resting on shell, 
showing that a mound had existed there before the fort was 
projected, and had been primarily selected owing to its height 
and commanding position for the purposes of fortification. The 
fact that the ruins of the fort were actually covered by shell 
would seem to prove that some of the mound builders were in 
existence after the time of Columbus. 

Hail ! wondrous preacher from the ages past ! 
Reminding mortals of their little span ; — 
Affording glimpses of the world's great plan, 

Wherein by layers of shell, each race is classed. 

Shell, in deep layers with earthy streaks between, 
Whose blank oblivion wiped the last race out, 
And made succeeding races even doubt 

There had been other races on the scene. 

[ 99 ] 



Oh, what a fund of human love and lore 

Is here suggested by your crumbling mound, — 
Where rude utensils, that within are found, 

Describe the makers who have gone before. 

Unlike Egyptian Pyramids that show 
Completion in one cycle by design, 
Your heights without design have lain supine, 

And taken many centuries to grow. 

Who laid your base within old Mother Earth 

Entirely reckless of a super pile? 

Who scoured the beach for many a weary mile 
To bring the quota that still proves of worth? 

Was he a Merman or was he a Shade? 

A Lilliputian or a Brobdignag? 

Did lost Atlantis on some towering crag 
Protect him till a landing here was made? 

Was he a mariner from Europe tost? 

Or did his ancestors from Asia spring? 

And by migrations from the far north bring 
His household gods to warm Floridian Coast? 

Was he a scion of the Aztec race? 

Was he of peaceful or of warlike mould? 

Came he like later Spaniard searching gold, 
Or was he guided by the fleeting chase? 

Was there a Washington in that far time? 

Or did he need a Lincoln to preside? 

Did he have Caesars triumphing in pride 
O'er subjugated nations, steeped in crime? 



[ 100 ] 



But why so curious? Is it not in line 
That he has been here and has left his mark! 
See where burnt shell and ashes prove the Spark 

Promethean, his, that gave him power divine ! 

He left no Homer to enshrine his joy; 

But here we read of him and know his place. 

These are his records where within we trace 
As valued information as we have of Troy. 

But e'en such records, sacred tho' they are, 
The present age seeks quickly to efface, 
And for commercial ends, in great disgrace, 

Will scatter on the highways near and far. 

Centuries of centuries perhaps have passed 
Since by your builders you began to rise : 
But now profanely and before our eyes, 

We see you leveled as we stand aghast. 

Hold ! Ruthless Vandals ! Let the love of fame 
Arrest your desecration and your greed : 
Unto this hoary preacher, pray give heed 

And scatheless keep each mound from local claim. 

Can petty road, worn out ere yet in place, 

Be compensation for so great a loss? 

These are the Vedahs tho' o'ergrown with moss, 
Wherein America its youth may trace. 

If that same study that Pompeii demands 
Were given unstinted to this teeming mound, 
Who knows the wonders that may yet be found ! — 

What trophies tickle faithful worker's hands. 

Hail ! frosted preacher of the ages sped ! 

I give you audience and your ruins scan ; 

Where, catching glimpses of the world's great plan, 
I bow with reverence and uncovered head. 

[ 101 ] 



BACHELOR'S HALL— A SONG. 

Greatest poets have sung with a rapturous swell, 

Of their country, their home, or their friends; 
They've detailed to their readers each ecstatic spell 

That on some dark-eyed maiden depends. 
But there's one thing on which they have silently gazed, 

And have mentioned it never at all ; 
And a theme without doubt they ought most to have 
praised 

Is "The pleasures of Bachelors Hall." 

Oh, the pleasures of Bachelor's Hall ; 

Oh, the pleasures of Bachelor's Hali ; 

A theme without doubt that ought most to be praised 

Is the pleasures of Bachelor's Hall. 

You have no boardin' missis to measure your feeds ; — 

To transform your old boots into steak; 
And when pay-day comes round with its much pressing 
needs 

The big half of your wages to take. 
You've no one to hint that it's getting quite late, 

When a friend comes to give you a call ; 
And when out after ten you've no reasons to state, 

In the pleasures of Bachelor's Hall. 

No parents or "loved ones" there chide you for nought, 

No mother-in-law gives a "breeze," 
No sisters, or cousins, or aunts must be fought, 

When trying to plague or to tease. 
You've no wife to nag of your being to club, 

No children around you to squall ; 
No dressmaker's bills ! ah there is the rub — 

In the pleasures of Bachelor's Hall. 



[ 102 ] 



You go out when you like and come in when you choose, 

There is no one to order you 'round ; 
If you place a thing by and lie down for a snooze, 

When you wake you know where it is found. 
When you're hungry you've only to stifle the pang 

From your cupboard well stocked near the wall; 
And such comforts, my friends, quite exclusive belong 

To the pleasures of Bachelor's Hall. 



ODE IN ANTICIPATION OF THE DRAINAGE 
AND OPENING OF THE FLORIDA EVER- 
GLADES COUNTRY TO SETTLEMENT. 

They are coming! They are coming! 

Don't you hear their measured tread? 
They are coming by the thousand 

In their search for daily bread : 
From the far off Rocky Mountains, 

From Pacific's shining strand, 
Come the echoes of their marching 

To the happy promised land: 
Over fields of corn and cotton 

Can't you hear the heavy tramp? 
As they travel through the darkness, 

With the Tropic Moon for lamp. 

They are coming! They are coming! 

And their hopes are fixed and sure; 
They are coming 'neath the frost line 

Where the summer suns endure ; 
From the storm-swept Western prairie; 

From the Northern snowy plain ; 
To the land of milk and honey — 

To the land of youth and gain. 
Hark to yonder springing footsteps! 

Hear the laughter and the glee! 
As they come in bands together 

To the clime from Winter free. 

f 103 ] 



They are coming ! They are coming ! 

And we cannot change their course ; 
They have heard about the Everglades 

And will soon be at their source. 
O'er the classic Suwannee River 

They are coming by the score; 
And we'd better make the best of it 

And welcome them galore : 
For the time has come to hustle 

And get ready for the fray — 
As the long night vigil's ended 

And it's now Floridian Day. 



[ 104 ] 



ACROSTIC AND AUTOGRAPH VERSES 



ACROSTIC AND AUTOGRAPH VERSES. 

Throughout large portions of America it is a fad, especially 
of the fairer sex to keep albums, in which friends are given 
an opportunity to write verses of praise, or advice, or "what 
they will' over their signature. The following are samples of 
verses the author has used, from time to time, at the solicitation 
of his friends: 



TO GRACE. 

Gold is nothing but glittering dust, 

.Rubies at best are but stone, 

AW wealth is mere dross, 

Cease pining its loss 

Enjoy what you have without moan. 

TO ANNIE. 

A woman who wishes to be 
No laggard in beauty and grace 
Need have no cause for fear, 
If she will but keep clear 
.Each folly which tends to debase. 

TO LIZZIE. 

Lizzie, if you wish to be happy 
In this world of care and woe, 
Zealously labor and try to be 
Zephyrs to each friend you know, 
inasmuch as trying will help you 
Equally happy with them to grow. 



[ 107 ] 



TO EDIE HOWE. 

.Eagerly I took your album 
Dipped my pen deep down in ink, 
In the meantime trying truly, 
Ev'ry plan I could to think. 

Here at last I make confession, 
Oh ! believe me, for 'tis true, 
j^hen each thought of line was written 
Ev'ryone suggested you. 

TO GERTRUDE. 

Goodly looks and graceful actions, 
Each by virtue close entwined, 
i?eap respect from e'en the dullest, — 
Take the hearts of more refined. 
i?ate me, pray, among the latter ; 
£/ntold thoughts I can't appease; 
Duty, Pleasure, I would forfeit, 
.Eager much your grace to please. 

TO NELLIE. 

Now that I have a chance to write 

Each wish I have for thee, 

Lest I should leave e'en one from sight 

Life seemeth sad to me. 

/ therefore write with bated breath — 

Each joy that's known be thine till death. 

TO EDNA (NICKNAMED "NED"). 

Each moment since I saw her face 
Distracted here and there I've sped ; 
Nor balm nor hope can peace replace, — 
AW life seems void apart from Ned. 

[ 108 ] 



TO NELLIE. 

Nearer to thee I feign would be, 

Even in time of woe; 

Long years with thee could only be 

Long years of joy to know; 

/ therefore write this humble prayer, 

.Each hour give me that you can spare. 

TO MAGGIE. 

Many friends in here have written ; 
All professing they are true; 
Greedy to admit they're smitten; 
Gladly writing love to you; 
Ii I thought my case not hopeless 
Eagerly the same I'd do. 

TO FLORENCE. 

Fair lady while your pretty face, 

Love's darts around do throw ; 

Or while in you each cherished grace, 

Reveals sweet virtue's glow ; 

Entranced I gaze — admire — adore ; 

Nor chide me when I crave : 

Come Flo and all my peace restore ; 

Employ me as your slave. 

TO NETTIE. 

(A young lady in Newfoundland) 

Newfoundland has inspiration, 
E'en to suit a poet's whim ; 
Themes of wonderful creation — 
Themes of grandeur crave his hymn. 
Ii, howe'er one pennon curls 
Extra high, 'tis o'er her girls. 

[ 109 ] 



TO MAUD. 

M odesty is woman's shield ; 
^411 shame's bolts by it are scattered; 
t/ntil pride worn weak points yield : — 
.Danger then finds safeguard shattered. 

TO JESSIE. 

I've fumbled o'er your album neat 
With many an anxious look; 

I've turned the leaves o'er one by one, 
Gazed into ev'ry nook; 

But truth to tell I've only found 
One full page in the book. 

I therefore with prophetic pen 

To write its fortune dare ; 
A few more years will soon have passed, 

Its leaves now white and bare 
Will then be full of loved ones' names 

And autographs quite rare. 

Each page will breathe some loving wish 

For you of untold bliss ; 
Perchance at whiles you'll look them o'er 

With many a sigh and kiss ; 
And when you do, please don't forget 

To stop and sigh at this. 

TO 



(In memory of a game of forfeits). 

If there's aught that is better 
Than diamonds or pearls, 

It is plucking ripe cherries 
With lovable girls. 



[ 110 



TO A CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE. 

Dear Miss Cogher, though but seldom 

We have seen each other's face, 
Yet I have been quite enamored 

Of your beauty and your grace. 
And though Fortune be against us, 

And we never more should meet, 
Yet with fondness I'll remember 

All our friendship, short but sweet. 

TO ETHEL. 

Little Ethel, bright and fair, 

Crowned by locks of golden hair, 

With her eyes of roguish blue, 

And her cheeks of rosy hue, 

Has so gladdened me of late, 

That I fain would bribe old Fate 

To forget for once his laws, — 

Banish from her life its flaws, — 

Make her years but rounds of pleasure, 

Full of joy and health and leisure, 

And when death at last must come: 

May it whisper "welcome home." 

TO A LADY 

With whom, while a member of the Vancouver World staff 
the author used to have many a discussion on Chinese immi- 
gration: — 

If you wish to be happy, pray take my suggestion, 
And get yourself right on the great Chinese question; 
Then when "justice to all" is your motto unfurled, 
I know you'll remember the scribe of the World. 



Ill 



TO A YOUNG LADY 

Who lived in a suburban town, and who the author used 
to see off on her train quite frequently: — 

When silver threads are mingled with 

Your golden locks of hair, 
Perchance at whiles you'll take your specs 

And find this album rare. 
Y'ou'll turn its pages one by one 

Till this vile scroll you gain; 
Then with a knowing smile you'll say : 

"That old three-thirty train." 

TO JIM THOMAS 

Whose lamp the author accidentally broke at an entertainment 
to which he had loaned it in North Bend, Oregon. 

Dear Thomas, if the truth be spoken, 

You must be a sorry scamp, 
If your ties of love are broken 

Just as easy as your lamp. 

TO ANNIE. 

When age and care have changed your hair 

To locks of snowy white; 
When time and tide, by youth defied, 

Have nearly dimmed your sight ; 

With tott'ring steps and flutt'ring heart, 

You'll find this book at times ; 
And as you scan each Cupid's dart 

Well hid beneath these rhymes, 

You'll pass some by with deep drawn sigh, 

At others you will chaflf, 
But when this page you chance to spy, 

You'll hold your sides and laugh. 

[ 112 ] 






TO PORTIA. 

Golden rays of brightest sunshine 

Enter through the thickest cloud, 
Roses often grow in splendor 

Where the coarsest weeds do crowd; 
So it is with you, sweet Portia, 

In this world of sin and care 
Both in features and in goodness 

You keep blooming fresh and fair. 

TO MARTHA MILLS. 

Man indeed's a great creation, 

Ev'ryone admits 'tis so ; 
And it needs no long oration 

To explain what all do know. 

But despite his power and greatness 
And his large expansive mind, 

For a peer, e'en though he's mateless, 
He need not go far to find. 

Woman, yes, despotic woman, 
Makes him do whate'er she wills, 

And much more if she's a charmer, 
Like my friend, Miss Martha Mills. 

TO MAGGIE THORP. 

When Juneau's mists and Juneau's hills 

Have faded from the scene, 
And when 'tween me and Juneau's girls 

Vast oceans intervene ; 
I'll feel so sorry, glum and sad, 

So wretched, lonely, blue ; 
There's nothing sure will make me glad, 

But coming back to you. 

[ 113 ] 



TO MRS. THORP. 

At an Easter festival in Juneau, Alaska, a personified nursery 
rhyme performance was given, in which Mrs. Thorp's son, 
Murph, represented the personage who ministered to the pious 
wants of the author, supposed to be Simple Simon. 

In after years, when looking o'er 
These leaves then torn and shattered, 

While thinking of the friends who wrote 
Your praises true or flattered; 

Try hard to call to mind that night, 
When Murph was Tom the pieman; 

For then 'twill be an easy flight 
To think of Simple Simon. 

TO ONE ABOUT TO LEAVE HOME. 

You'll find, my friend, when far away, 

In search of light you roam; 
As dimmer grows its distant ray, 

More bright 'twill beam at home. 

TO NETTIE 

Who had expressed a desire in my presence to become an 
author. 

Nettie if you'd be successful, 

In the literary strife ; 
Your desires must all end blissful, 

If you strive to give them life. 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

I 

To write all your praises 
Seems to me so absurd ; 

I think I'll just speak them, 
And not write a word. 

[ 114 ] 



II 

When in a whirl of joy and glee 
I care not if you think of me; 
But when you're sad and feeling glum, 
Confide in me and I'll keep "mum." 

Ill 

My love for you is like a tree 
In some green woodland dale, 

As older it may grow in years, 
It grows more strong and hale. 

IV 

If all your praises I should write 

Within this little book, 
I fear none else would have a page, 

Nor e'en one little nook. 

V 

I take your album off the shelf, 

And write above my name 
These words, to show my love for you 

Will always be the same. 

VI 

In after years when time and tide 
Have changed your hair and features, 

You'll find this book, and laughing say : 
How oft I charmed these creatures. 

VII 

As the air is full of birds, 
So this book of gentle words; 
As the sea is full of fishes, 
So this page of my good wishes. 



115 



VIII 

When life is done, its troubles o'er, 
May death be but the open door 
Through which you'll pass to brighter shore, 
To enjoy peace for evermore. 

IX 

Though I feign would conceal what I'm forced to admit, 
Since I saw you I've lost both my heart and my wit ; 
For none else can I love; nought else can I do, 
But think, talk or sing of my meetings with you. 



That there's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip, 

Is a proverb as old as it's true ; 
So when friends make a break, be quite certain you take 

The intention for all that they do. 

XI 

Though the weeks of our friendship are scarcely a score, 

I feel, as I now say adieu, 
That 'tis well for my heart we so quickly must part, 

Else soon 'twould be broken in two. 

XII 

In haste I glance your album o'er, 

Then take my ink and pen, 
And write this word or two to say, 

I hope we'll meet again. 

XIII 

Your friendship partner, I confess, 

(Nor do not think I flatter,) 
Is quite as needful to my bliss, 

As whisky is to water. 

[ H6 ] 



EPITAPHS. 



ON A BIRD. 

Approach ye warblers from on high, 

And chant your tuneful grief ; 
Here lies a mate, snatched from the sky 

By Death, that daring thief. 
Yet while ye sorrow, still rejoice; 

For from the funeral pyre, 
Good warblers rise to higher skies, 

To join the heavenly choir. 

ON A LAZY MAN. 

Here lies Simon Smoothface, whose most noted trait 
Ere he passed through the Valley of Sorrow, 

Was never to dream of commencing today 
Any task he might shirk till tomorrow. 

ON A HOT-HEADED FRIEND. 

Grown cool at last, here lies McLaren 
Upon whose head, though far from barren, 
No beastie dared to rest its feet — 
Lest in the act it died of heat. 

ON AN EMPLOYER 

Whose most prominent trait was an ever-growing desire to be 
thoroughly understood. In his efforts to make his instructions 
plain, or, as he himself termed it, "self-explanatory," he had 
become very tautological in his style of composition, while 
his conversation fairly bristled with the interrogation, "do you 
understand?" 

Here Carr lies low ; Death's magic wand 
Has proved its power, "you understand?" 
No more his wordy ways will worry, 
For reasons "self explanatory." 

[ H9 ] 



ON A WELL-KNOWN TOPER. 
Dear friends, a line or two will do 

To tell you who lies here ; 
For 'neath this stone, without a groan, 

There lies a keg of beer. 

In other words, here lies T — P — , 

A victim to strong drink; 
To whiskey's lair he went so near, 

He toppled o'er the brink. 

ON AN ELDERLY GENTLEMAN 

Whose irritability made it impossible for those with whom 
he had to deal to ever understand his quite frequently proffered 
instructions. When, however, his orders were carried out 
apparently to the letter, it was the most natural thing in the 
world to hear him say in anything but amiable tones: "Look 
here, I told you from the first that that was wrong." 

Death surely is a daring demon, 

To brave the wrath of uncle Heman ; 

And heedless hear his dying song: 

"I told you, Death, that that was wrong." 

ON A VERY ESTIMABLE YOUNG LADY. 

Tread lightly here, for 'neath this mound 

My lady fair doth lie; 
A fact which proves to all around, 

That saints do sometimes die. 

In life so lovable and good, 

Unerring and divine, 
Perhaps 'twere better that she should 

Mid heaven's beauty shine. 

ON A CHATTERBOX. 

Here Horace lies a silent prize 

Of unrelenting Death ; 
He talked so much while live and well — 

He used up all his breath. 
[ 120 i 



ON MY EARLIEST PATRON. 

In sweet oblivion 'neath this tomb, 

Friend Forbes lies in state; 
While ling'ring near in cheerless gloom, 

We mourn our luckless fate. 

For such a jovial fellow, he, 

With ne'er a downcast face; 
Vain, vain the hope, all men agree, 

To fill his vacant place. 

ON MY FRIEND IDA. 

'Twere easy seen that will of man 
With Death has nought to do; 

For 'neath this stone poor Ida lies, 
While all the world doth rue. 

In life so full of joyous fun, 

So beautiful and fair; 
When Death her person would not shun, 

What then will he not dare? 



ON A SMALL BOY. 

Here Wilfred lies, some say brought low 

By making queer suggestions ; 
But others think, who ought to know, 

He died from asking questions. 

ON AN INVETERATE THEATREGOER. 

Ye stricken comrades, cease your wailing, 
While Fame to passers is detailing, 
How Death found out poor Burton's failing, 
And used it sore. 

[ 121 ] 



To theatres he went so often, 
A program e'en his brain could soften, 
So Death pinned one inside a coffin, 
And raised the door. 

And as poor Burton that way passed, 
Upon that bill one look he cast, 
But little thought it was his last, 
As near he drew. 

Inside the box he quickly stept, 
When down the lid behind him crept, 
And soon in Death's cold arms he slept, 
While all must rue. 



ON A REVEREND FRIEND. 

Behold ! to Cosgrove's tomb we've come ; 
We gaze, but sorrow keeps us dumb : 
For it was he, our learned parson, 
Who taught us to translate Upharsin ; 
Who oft explained the gospel story. 
By parable or allegory; 
And who in feeling tones did often 
Tell us how best to cheat the coffin. 
But here, alas ! — his latest sermon — 
He lies the feast of hungry vermin. 
Think of the truths he once could teach ; 
Whose lifeless bones thus wisely preach ! 



on mr. Mcpherson. 

This stone was erected 
To recall that great person, 

Who was known to this world, 
By the name of McPherson 

[ 122 ] 



His holy demeanor, — 

Personified truth — 
Has been used ever since 

As a guidance for youth. 

How his wondrous career 

On this earth was begun 
Is a myst'ry to most, 

And remembered by none. 

But more wondrous his ending, 

If history's true; 
For in broadest daylight, 

He just faded from view. 

ON A PROFESSOR OF SCIENCE 

Who was also an Amateur Artist 

Below in crisp and cheerless garb, 
Poor Wright in silence lies; 

While o'er him grows an uncalled herb 
In hopes its name will rise. 

Around his grave with doleful look, 
Are pebbles, rocks and stones ; 

Collected there since life forsook 
His fast decaying bones. 

And well they may their sorrow show, 
For did he not, while well, 

With learned look and conscious glow, 
Their names and species tell? 

How great, ye flowers and trees around, 
Must be your grief this day; 

'Twas he who could, with skillful art, 
Your very life portray. 

[ 123 ] 



And you, ye stars, in pity weep, 

For this your comrade dead; 
Who now will tell, profound and deep, 

The way your course is sped? 

And last of all, ye human race, 
With noiseless step draw nigh; 

When Death such learnedness can face, 
You sure have cause to sigh ! 

ON SIR ISAAC PITMAN. 

The father of Phonography. Requiescat in Pace. 

Here lies Isaac Pitman who, when on earth's level, 
In driving men crazy far outstripped the Devil ; 
With his "iths" and his "thees" and his "ishes" and 

"zhees" 
No wonder so many long wished him at ease ; 
But now that he's gone — give to Caesar his due — 
Let us moan in his honor one last "Aw-oh-oo." 
How very consoling, when we follow his lead, 
To know in Death's confines whose counsel to heed ; 
For is it not likely when Old Nick gets at him, 
Sir Isaac will take down proceedings verbatim? 

ON AN OLD MAID 

Who, in spite of many afternoon naps and a remarkable 
appetite, remained fearfully and wonderfully lean. 

When Rachel in life her lone vigil was keeping, 

Her pleasures consisted in eating and sleeping; 

But now — while Earth's wriggling hosts hungrily 

weep — 
Death limits her pleasures to limitless sleep. 



[ 124 ] 



ON JACK McADAM, 

An old-time office mate, who had a rascally habit of purloining 
the authors eraser, pencil or pen, for the sake of getting him 
wild, as he very suggestively termed it. 

Ye thieves and robbers bold, draw near, 

And keep your faces calm ; 
Here lies a man you once held dear, 

Poor Johnny Mac-a-dam. 

ON MY FRIEND GRACE, 

Whose most noticeable peculiarity was the very frequent 
ejaculation of the phrase, "Oh dear." 

Poor Beauty runs life's dreary race 

All lonely since we buried Grace; 

For 'neath this mound, a fettered guest, 

The latter lies in dreamless rest. 

Far up aloft on angel wing 

Her soul has soared with saints to sing; 

But ere its flight, for parting cheer, 

The Muses caught her last "Oh dear." 

ON THE HON. FRED'K S. MORSE. 

Who had been long enough in Florida politics to be accused 
by his opponents of almost every imaginable crime, but who 
'". s P | . te J of a11 a "usations was a most excellent good fellow' 
His kindness of heart was such that whenever it fell to his lot 
to have to admonish anyone he would always soften the stroke 
by the interrogation "You know what I mean?" 

Here moulds the corse of "modest" Morse; 
While sad-eyed girls his vows rehearse; 
That he is dead "The Boys" agree— 
His glass undrained confirms him free: 
His prayers all spoke— his last bank broke- 
Well played his last outrageous joke: 
Let's now forget his fits of spleen, 
And think of "You know what I mean." 

f 125 ] 



ON A STOUT LADY. 

Whose obesity was not her only distraction 

Here Austie lies, nor will she rise 
Till worms her carcase lighten, 

And then Old Nick will have her quick, 
With fat his fire to brighten. 

A FLEDGLING'S EPITAPH. 

There once was a dear little bird 

Whose twitterings no longer are heard; 

It aspired to the sky, 

While unable to fly, 

And so 'neath this mound is interred. 

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF IRENE. 

Though her body still hallows this funeral pyre, 
Her spirit has joined the invisible choir. 

Through silence soft melodies stealthily come : 
"Live nobly and proudly I'll welcome you home." 

ENGRAVED ON A MONUMENT. 

Erected to the memory of parents and brother by the surviving 
members of the family. 

Here 'neath the sod, oblivious though we weep, 
A father, mother and a brother sleep; 
Nor blame nor question th' inevitable frost, 
If all too quickly their comradeship was lost : 
The mystery of death, who curiously would brave, 
Must first their loved ones meet beyond the silent 
grave. 



[ 126 ] 



ON JUNEAU'S MUSE. 

An effusion, entirely lomi ;„ ; t „ 

J—*-/* . ^^C^ r th eTn a eau y 
Mxnxng Record once upon a time, the Free Press «£ 
ortunate rival was called, in its next ,£?£& Z^onZ 
vifh . T T 6 " m thdr ° Wn minds think they were born 

s; thet^ w however **■ -^ -^^ rr; 1 :: 

public! * VCrSeS Were imm «"ately Placed before the 

Upon the lonely mountain side 
Fair Juneau's muse lies buried; 

Its soul has crossed that great divide 
O'er which we all are ferried. 

Despite its youth, despite its vim, 

Despite its good intentions, 
It was maligned to suit a whim 

And further man's contentions. 

The Free Press, maddened by the truth 
The poor deceased was telling, 

Tried hard to mime the witty youth, 
But failed, with envy swelling. 

It straightway, moved by foul intent, 
With venom fell to swearing; 

Our muse, unable to resent, 
Grew stiff as any herring. 

* * * 

(Later) -Take care, take care, ye brimstone sprites, 
You'll soon, alas! be weeping; 
Our muse recovered from the bites- 
It was not dead, but sleeping. 



[ 127 ] 



ON A LITTLE GIRL 

Mary Russell, by name, who just lived long enough to make 
herself sorely missed when called by the stern reaper to "a better 
place." 

Ye strangers here in wonder stand 
And see the work of Death's dread hand ; 
That awful power no more despise, 
His latest victim, Mary, lies. 
No fairer flower, no brighter gem 
Could he to such a fate condemn, 
And we the losers by Death's gain 
Must give her up, despite the pain. 

Her years, though barely half a score, 
Have made her loss to us so sore. 
We cannot still our throbbing hearts, 
Now vacant left by fate's fell darts. 
Those large, dark eyes, that pretty face, 
Must now enhance a better place. 
From earth she's gone to realms above, 
To taste the sweets of heavenly love. 



ON A CRAB SHELL, 

Picked up on the shores of Alaska and taken to Cleveland, 
Ohio, by Dr. Volney McAlpine, a dentist of that city, whom the 
author met while sojourning at Sitka. 

Ye Cleveland strangers, hear my prayer, 
And lift my corse with tender care ; 
From Sitka's far off strand I've come, 
Against my will, for 'twas my home. 
Alive I scorned man's cunning wiles 
And spurned alike his frowns or smiles ; 
But when laid low by Death's dread stab, 
Man picked me up a conquered crab. 



[ 128 ] 



IN MEMORIAM "F. C C. B." 

An Irish solicitor's apprentice; alias a would-be shotsman and 
sport; alias a self-claimed descendent of Henry the Third, by 
his father's side; alias more recently of so-called "landed gentry" 
stock; alias "Mr. Cecil" as his Uncle— the solicitor— insisted on 
calling him to the ordinary "trash" of the office; alias a champion 
cyclist; alias the boasted offspring of a Persian Princess by his 
mother's side; alias a "saved" Plymouth Brother attending at 
Merrion Hall, Dublin. 

The Courts where B blundered now know him 

no more; 
Wild geese, he so many times missed, miss him sore; 
This side-shoot of Henry takes here his long rest; 
While lands, alleged ancestors lorded are blest. 
R. I. P. "Mister Cecil." Your bike-scorching past— 
The scorching you'll now get forever will last. 

But Bagdad is dreary. A prince of its blood, 
From feeding on others has here become food: 
"A child of mine dead! Which? Who was its ma 
"Of the loves in my harem?" loud queries the Shah. 
Yet, silent to him— to Saint Gabriel's call 
These bones will croak: "Saved Lord— at Merrion 
Hall" 

THE POET'S EPITAPH 

While suffering from a visitation of boils that confined him 
to his room for some days, the Author sent the following verses 
to his fellow lodgers, to account for his absence from the festive 
board: 

Come here aspiring youth and learn 

What weapon Death will use, 
When he sees fit to overturn 

A follower of the Muse; 
Poor rhyming Currie chanced to cross 

His pathway, cold and bleak, 
Death straightway aimed and felled him with— 

A boil upon his cheek. 

f 129 ] 



EPIGRAMS ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 



WONDERS OF AMERICA. 

"What is that?" said Pat in wonder, 
As we entered New York Bay ; 

And the sunset gun was booming 
Out the close of dying day. 

"That's the sunset," said a traveler, 
Who had heard it peal before, 

And who thought the Celtic stranger 
Could discern a cannon's roar. 

"Well bedad! that bates ould Ireland, 
And the divil too," said Pat ; 

"Who'd a thunk the sun could settle 
With a thunderin' thud like that?" 

THE EDITORS WERE DENSE. 

He was a wag of great renown, 

His words with brilliance shone, 
His sweetheart said e'en London town 

Such wit ne'er looked upon. 
But yet while friends his praises sang, 

Or aped his subtle vein, 
His jokes v/ere like a boomerang — 

They all came back again. 

HIS REASONS WERE "LUMINOUS." 

Smith : Come up to the match on the diamond my 

friend ? 
Jones: If it were not so misty, I would. 
Smith : But why should mere mist such a pleasure 

suspend? 
Jones : Because a damp match is no good. 

r 133 ] 



NOT CONCISE ENOUGH. 

On hearing a little man refer to his large wife as his "better 
half." 

Your "better half" say you? Well, that takes the cake! 

For telling the truth you'll not rank among martyrs. 
To your wife, sir, and quick an apology make : 

According to weight, she's your "better three-quar- 
ters." 



THE STRANGE ADVERTISEMENT. 

Of a lady who dealt in second-hand wearing apparel. 

Miss Smith, knowing wealth on economy based, 
Has now "left-off" clothing to suit every taste ! ! 

IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

Of a pair of shoes received as a parting gift from a friend. 

Dear Lamble, accept a bard's most grateful thanks; 

A verse for your kindness his muse is commanding : 
Your gift with a gift from Divinity ranks ; 

From you — happy boast — he received understanding. 

A TOAST. 

Here's a health to the men who do things, 

To the men who are unafraid ; 
To the men who in spite of barriers 

Have conquered the frowning shade. 
Yes, here's to the men who do things, 

May their number never grow less ; 
For on them alone we are forced to own 

Dependeth the world's success. 



[ 134 ] 



REFLECTIONS ON THE YANKEE SPANKO 

WAR. 

This war was precipitated by the blowing up (accidentally or 
otherwise) of the U. S. War Ship "Maine," in the Spanish 
harbor of Havana. At the bombardment of Santiago, one of 
the most considerable engagements during the war, a mule only 
was killed, according to the Spanish despatches to Madrid. 

Though 'tis said Uncle Sam sheer brute strength does 

abhor, 
It was by main force he won in his late Spanish war; 
For despite the Armada, historic of Spain, 
Spain's one great, weak spot was exposed on the main. 
Not the mane of the mule that was killed, by the way— 
"That's not what I mane," as friend Patrick would say- 
But to sum up the matter, men say in the main; 
That the Maine was the reason why Sammy whipped 

Spain. 



PROFESSIONAL COURTESIES. 
"Doctor," said a legal light 

To his friend of pills and plasters, 
"Count 3'ourself a lucky wight, 

Being saved from earned disasters, 
Thank your stars that, ere they're found, 

Doctor's 'bulls' go underground." 

"Right you are," exclaimed the Doc, 
"Medicine beats law to pieces : 

For, though it is only talk 
That a lawyer's wealth increases : 

Still his errors cause some care, 
Dangling as they do 'in air.' " 



f 135 ] 



CHRISTIAN CHARITY. 

In the year 1898 a man, calling himself de Rougemont, caused 
it to be advertised that he had come through, as a very truth, 
experiences that would have done credit to Gulliver and must 
have made Baron Munchausen turn over in his grave. Un- 
fortunately, however, inquiry put a new light on the story and 
Monsieur de Rougemont, disappeared into even greater obscurity 
than that from which he had appeared. 

The Lord gave de Rougemont to us, 
Until people his story had heard ; 

Then the Lord took him out of the fuss — 
So blest be the name of the Lord. 



FELINE PHILOSOPHY. 

I was musing one day in the old-fashioned way, 

Trying hard to commune with my fate; 
While, side me there sat a purring old cat, 

In a quiet and dignified state : 
"What," says I, while stroking my feline friend's coat, 

"Is the acme of all that is nice?" 
When, judge my surprise as from pussy's black throat, 

Came the answer quite audibly — "mice." 

Dear, dear ! how absurd ! thought I with a smile ; 

I must surely be dreaming to-day; 
A cat cannot talk ; to think so is vile ! 

And puss purred her monotonous lay : 
Then in rev'rie again, "Is there nought to attain, 

Without 'gaging worlds in our spats?" 
When distinct as before, from her seat on the floor, 

Grimalkin looked up and said "rats." 



[ 136 



BABEL SUBSTITUTED. 

In Montreal, Canada, an Ice Palace used to be constructed 
every other winter as the grand attraction of a Winter Carnival. 
The site of the palace was Dominion Square, around which many 
of the most beautiful churches, for which the city is noted, are 
clustered. 

Sinner attend ! This icy pile is where you ought to 

dwell ; 
For, while the churches that surround may warn you 

out of h — 1 ; 
Yet once within these snowy walls, you certainly would 

learn, 
That all the brimstone Nick might send could hardly 

make you burn. 

DUTY TO THE DEATH. 

This verse was called forth by the non-arrival of a holiday 
number of "The Builder," a magazine in which views of Dublin 
architecture were the attraction and which paper had been 
"posted" to the author as a present, but never received. 

Alas ! what a pity ! ''The Builder" is gone. 

Now Celtic construction instructs the unknown. 

On a monument over its "picturesque" ghost 

As its due should be written : " 'Twas lost at its post." 

BREVITY IS THE SOUL OF WIT.* 

There once was a slug, 

Crept into plugged lug, 

Of the captain of "Scions of Eve ;" 

But the Cap with a poke, 

Caught on to the joke, 

And slugs laugh but once at the deaf. 

*NOTE — For a different meaning to this epigram add the 
sound "er" to the short lines and "il" to the long lines. This 
is somewhat far-fetched but is a suggestion to more patient 
jokers of what might be done with the English language. 

[ 137 ] 



IN A SONG BOOK 

Presented to a dear, little lady friend. 

Some people are always bemoaning their fate 
And wailing the luck that seems always too late; 
But let us be wise and set worries a-winging : 
Since life must be lived, why not live through it 
singing? 

SMOKING IS CATCHING. 

That smoking is catching has now become plain ; 
The maids who most often touch lips with the men, 
Have caught the contagion attached to their pets, 
And now the poor creatures must smoke cigarettes. 

THEIR YANKEE-DOODLE-DO. 

When loss of dower unties the string 

Of titled dudes who woo ; 
Some Yankee maids first learn to sing 

Their Yankee dude 'ill do. 

SO NEAR AND YET SO FAR. 

That New York policeman and Florida fleas, 
Have one trait in common the country agrees ; 
When anxious to find them, despite all your panting, 
It's certain as Fate, you'll find both to be wanting. 

LET THERE BE LIGHT. 

A woman's wealth of borrowed hair, 

And pulpit hiding hat, 
Has oft inspired the Christian's prayer : 

As at her back he sat. 

[ 138 ] 



HOW TIMES HAVE CHANGED. 

The poets have sung that in days of the past, 

While Dian, a maiden divine, 
Was dipping her person so buxom and chaste, 

In billows of feathery brine, 
One, Actaeon, saw her and for his offense, 

Was suddenly changed to a stag ; 
Which straightway, to add to his horror intense, 

Was devoured by a favorite dog. 

The tale has its weak points, all critics confess, 

For why should Diana be mad ; 
Either women have changed or her sea-bathing dress 

Must have fitted her awfully bad. 
Were latter-day maidens in taking their bath, 

And a man happened by so sedate, 
As not to look at them, they'd deem him in wrath 

More worthy of Actaeon's fate. 

POETS WILL UNDERSTAND. 

The modern poet's passion wail — 

His daily jars and frets — 
Soon cease when each returning mail 

Brings "Editor's regrets," etc. 

TECHNICAL TERMS. 

The man who holds a lady's hand 

Nor squeezes it enough, 
Said Nellie to her newest friend, 

We ladies call "a muff." 

But when a man with manly art, 
And squeeze and kiss and throe, 

Essays to shoot sweet Cupid's dart : 
That man we call "a bow." 

r 139 1 



BRITAIN'S ORACLE. 

When John Bull's asked to tell his views 

On any weighty question : 
He dares not risk his name to lose 

By making weak suggestion ; 
But quick his countrymen he mimes 

And quotes a column from "The Times." 

A LADY'S POCKET. 

While the fair one's hand is roving, 

With a touch so light and loving, 

Feeling for the fleeting pocket where her ready 

money lies : 
Lo ! a thief has seen it yawning, 
Like a rent within an awning, 
A.nd before her fingers get there he has robbed it 

of its prize. 

PADEREWSKI AGAIN. 

If the "striking" reforms of the Socialist host 

We with musical touches compare, 
We'll find that a leader of these is "Herr Most" 

While the leader of those is "Most hair." 

SUB-DUDE. 

What did the dude become, my dear, 
Who wed the maid he wooed? 
Why, George, said she, the reason's clear ! 
The dude became subdued. 



140 ] 



THE THOUGHTS 

Of a young lady whose lover's name was "Knight." 

Oh come, sweet Knight, and light my darkened day ; 

For day is night when thou my knight art gone, 
While night is day if gilded by the ray 

Of thee, my Knight, whose coming is the dawn. 

LUCK IN ODD NUMBERS. 

Said the highwayman out on the road, 
As his gun waked the coach from its slumbers, 

And he reaped wheresoever he strode : 

"Without doubt there is luck in awed numbers." 

QUITE LIBERAL BUT ! 



"That I'm open to conviction 

"Is gospel truth," said he; 
"But the man who can convince me 

"Is the man I want to see." 

IT NEEDS EDUCATING. 

Gilhooly was testing his writing machine, 

With fingers on keys and distress in his mien ; 

"By the powers," said he, "this invention's no good — 

"Though it prints like a book, it don't spell as it should." 

EVOLUTION. 

Impressions on first hearing a sermon by Dr. Parker, the famous 
London Divine. 

The art of acting has become 

So very much the rage ; 
That now to send its message home, 

The pulpit apes the stage. 

[ HI ] 



EVEN MASONS MAY BE MEAN. 

In memory of unmasonic treatment received at the hands of 
a Tyler and Secretary at the Masonic Temple, on Molesworth 
Street, Dublin. 

There are sheep of blackest hue 

In the midst of every flock; 
Where, to give old Nick his due, 

Their dark coats relieve the stock. 
In each walk of worldly life 

Good and bad extremes are seen : 
Angels once caused heavenly strife: 

Even Masons may be mean. 



AN IRISH TRAMP'S APOLOGY TO LONG- 
FELLOW. 

In happy homes he saw the light, 

Of household fires gleam warm and bright, 

Beyond a smoky lantern shone; 

And from his lips escaped a groan: 

The Workhouse ! 



WOMEN HAVE NO RIGHTS. 

Away with your doctrine that woman has right ; 
The great men of England have scouted it quite ; 
Her feminine folly has so much enraged 
That from the King's commons* frail woman is 
caged. 

*Whoever has been in the House of Commons at Westminster 
will remember that the ladies' gallery is at the very top of the 
building and a sort of iron wicker work keeps the fair sex from 
seeing any more than is absolutely necessary — for what particular 
reason the authorities know best. 



f 142 ] 



PRACTICAL POETRY. 

"The first position I obtained in Dublin, Ireland, was assistant 
foreman in a soap factory." 

A wandering bard to Dublin came 
Filled with reformer's hope; 

The natives prized his lofty aim, 
And set him making soap. 

THE POET'S PLAINT. 

Rhyme like a punster dissipates all mighty thought, 
And trains majestic Pegasus to sprightly trot. 
How can one hope to soar to dim celestial height 
If he must see his end before he starts his flight? 
And yet, this paradox I'm sorry to admit, 
When blank verse is my task unconsciously I fit, 
Rhyme to each measured line, despite contrary care, 
Until my mighty thoughts flit from me in despair. 

WITH A BOX OF CHOCOLATES. 

As an acknowledgment of a bouquet of flowers from a lady. 

Sweet, take these sweets ; and may their sweetness be : 
Sweet as the sweetness of your smiles to me. 
I'll be content if in their taste lie powers, 
To prove me grateful for your gift of flowers. 

*NOT DROWNED— BUT POISONED. 

A corpse, in Dublin's river drowned, 

When rescued in a giffey — 
The verdict that the jury found, 

Was : Poisoned in the Liffey. 

*NOTE — This last is a joke that my little eight-year-old friend, 
Freddie Cairns, told me with "difficult pains." I saw the point 
at once, however, and appreciated not only it but the quotation: 
"Where Liffey rolls its dead dogs to the sea." I never saw 
a dirtier volume of water masquerading under the name of a 
river before. — Author. 

[ 143 ] 



AN ESSAY ON "KANE." 

About the time this epigram was written, the Grand Mastei 
of the Orange Order, a very important institution in the North 
of Ireland, was Dr. Kane. If the reader is an Orangeman, the 
last line should be read not spoken; but if an anti-Orangeman, 
it should be spoken not read. In this way the author hopes to 
accommodate himself to two very opposite opinions. 

Cayenne is a kind of red pepper; 

And cane is a sugary weed; 
And Cain was a strong moral leper : — 

But Kane was as Abel, indeed. 

TO A LITTLE FRIEND. 

On the blank leaf of a "Santa Claus" Book. 

If you'ld be happy then agree 

With God and all his laws ; 
Since, but for Him, there would not be 

A kind old Santa Claus. 

TO ANOTHER LITTLE FRIEND. 

Prolong to years' your baby hours ; 

Keep youthful while you can ; 
For childish prattle wieldeth powers 

When wiser talk is vain. 

POLITICS IN BRITISH COLUMBIA. . 

Cotton, Kitchen and Brown were in the Opposition benches 
of the House of Assembly in the Spring of 1895. The following 
was published in a Government newspaper on the eve of a 
provincial election : 

Though the weather is still 
Rather sloppy and chill, 
The time for House-cleaning is nigh ; 
When we'll wash Kitchen's down ; 
Scour and bleach what is Brown ; 
And hang out soiled Cotton to dry. 



r 144 ] 



OSCULATION 

As described by a female practitioner. 

A kiss is a something of strangest device 

It's made out of nothing, but, oh my! it's nice. 

A HINT. 

Fond maiden be warned; keep a guard o'er your 

charms ; 
Nor throw yourself into the saintliest arms ; 
When love comes unbidden, it wakes man's mistrust : 
Rash impulse excites not his love — but his lust. 

WORDS TO THE WISE. 

Boys take what's to spare 

Of the kisses girls share 

With ev'ry Tom, Richard and Harry; 

But mark you, my dears : 

Such bliss turns to tears : 

It's the maid that's least kissed that men marry. 

CONSISTENT SPELLING. 

There once was a donee bought a calf 
Which he tried hard to gied with a stalf 
But the beast would nought deign 
To heed sweign, ceign or peign 
Which made e'en stade bystanders lalf. 

FACTS FROM AFAR. 

So fierce the heat 'neath Tropic skies, 
When night its cap has doffed ; 

Folks have to feed their hens on ice 
To get their eggs boiled soft. 

[ 145 1 



A RULE FOR EPIGRAMS. 

When epigrams are written so 
That grossness seems the poet's foe, 
The nearer danger comes the hit 
The more side splitting is the wit. 

AND HE STILL WONDERS. 

Wonderingly enquired the guest : 

"Birds-nest pudding ! what bird fixed it ?" 

Haughtily said she addressed : 
"Sir, it were the cook 'oo mixed it." 

SHE HAD EATEN OF THE FORBIDDEN FRUIT. 

An incident of married felicity. 

"Turn on your other side, my dear," 

Said he with sleepy sneeze, 
"I'd like the scent of onions changed 

To hair-oil, if you please." 

BEFORE HIS HONOR. 

What is your business? said the Judge; 
A Broker, sir ; — A Broker, fudge ! 
You are a tramp from outside view 
How can you be a broker, too? 
Well, judge, that's just my little joke 
Ain't I a broker when I'm broke?" 

A TIME FOR EVERYTHING. 

A Glasgow employer found fault with his clerk 

For coming too often unshaven to work : 

Says he, "While for clerical labor I pay 

I will not have clerks growing whiskers all day. 

I mean them to work when to office they come : 

If beard you must have, you must grow it at home." 

r 146 1 



A REPLY. 

To a fellow-lodger in Ireland on his complaining that the 
maid had neglected to rinse his wash hand basin. The word 
"digs" is the slang term for lodgings throughout the British 
Isles. 

Be wise, man! No longer such worries rehearse; 
You ought to thank heaven that things are no worse. 
Men should not expect spotless basins in "digs" 
Where those who must clean them were reared among 
pigs. 

A CONUNDRUM. 

An acrostic, pinned to the pillow of a roommate not long 
parted from his fiancee, in Bonnie Scotia. 

Enveloped in blankets here Willie reclines ; 
Long into the midnight he lies and repines ; 
Susceptible much to the charms of the fair 
Perhaps some sweet lassie — too often man's care — 
Excites and compels him to pining and prayer. 
Too true, 'tis a lass keeps his eyelids aflame : — 
Herein, if you look, you'll discover her name. 

TO A LADY TEACHER 

In the Indian Mission School at Sitka, Alaska, on the eve of 
her marriage to a friend of the author, named Millmore. 

Here's to the sly rascal, who, to suit his ambition, 
Has with sorrow so stricken the folks at the Mission, 
And good health to the lady he met to adore, 
And at last to convert into Mrs. Millmore. 

Not prepared to draw wrath from a man who could 

dare 
To aspire to the love of a person so fair, 
I close by desiring no care shall annoy 
Their sojourn together through long years of joy. 

[ 147 ] 



WITH A CHRISTMAS PRESENT 

To a young lady usually known by the nickname of "Ned." 

As Christmas was coming, it ran through my head 
I ought to send something to dear little Ned. 
But what could I send her ? Ah ! that made me shiver, 
For gifts should be pleasing and plead for the giver. 
I pondered and ponder'd on that fact intent, 
Till sudden it struck me — I'll send her some scent, 
So that when o'er presents she muses alone, 
She'll mix up my mem'ry with Eau de Cologne. 

WRITTEN BY REQUEST 

Of a lady who, for attention to an acquaintance during sick- 
ness, was the recipient from that acquaintance of a dozen glasses 
and a poetical letter of gratitude. 

If ever a lady had cause for elation, 

I now have, I say without hesitation, 

For having just tried life's true pathway to climb 

I'm honored with presents, kind wishes and rhyme. 

Many thanks for your friendship and wishes so fair, 

Nor mention my trifling attention and care ; 

I did but my duty, to help make amends 

For your being disabled so far from your friends. 

And again, many thanks for the glasses so rare 
(With which you have coupled those wishes so fair), 
May each draught ever quaffed from each glass but be 
A toast to your health and your prosperity. 

WITH A PRESENT 

To a lady in whose house I used to reside while in Lindsay, Ont. 

If there's aught I dislike, it is being ungrateful 
For kind little offices strangers may do ; 

So I think that it would be both, heartless and hateful, 
To not own the debt that I owe Mrs. Trew. 

[ 148 ] 



When sick and in trouble, alone and dejected, 

She ministered unto my every need ; 
And showed to me kindness so little expected, 

It cannot but make me feel grateful indeed. 

Accept this small gift, Mrs. Trew, as a token, 
To prove the confession above is sincere ; 

And may it be pledge of a friendship unbroken, 
To follow and bless us through each coming year. 

ON A XMAS CARD TO FATHER. 

Christmas bells their chimes are ringing, 
And the world, on pleasure bent, 

Of its joys are loudly singing, 
Filled with glee and merriment. 

Voices mingling, sleighbells jingling, 
Everywhere with gladsome sound; 

Hearts are lighter, hopes are brighter, 
Christmas has once more come round. 

With this card and earnest greeting, 

Full of filial wish from me, 
Father dear, may Christmas lavish 

Stores of joy and bliss on thee. 

WITH A BIRTHDAY PRESENT (OF SOME 
PRESSED FLOWERS). 

Dear Laura, to show the undying good wishes 
That Cupid awakes in those caught in his meshes, 
Let me hope that this day 'mid your life's many hours 
May be like a rose in a garden of flowers. 



r 149 1 



ON A STAMP ALBUM. 

Purchased from the author as an accommodation, by a friend. 

As through this world your way you push, 

May you be always just as "flush," 

As when, with open ready hand, 

You helped a "broke," but honest, friend. 

TO MR. AND MRS. MARKLEY, 

With a 5-o'clock china tea service on the 20th anniversary of 
their wedding. 

For twenty years, through rain and shine, 

And ev'ry sort of weather, 
You've plodded up Life's steep incline, 

And faced its foes together. 

By word and deed you've sown good seed ; 

And now around you spreading, 
The harvest lies for you to prize, 

On this your china wedding. 

May Peace and Plenty, sov'reign pair, 

Still strive your lot to lighten ; 
May sunny smile of offspring fair 

Your home life ever brighten. 

And with this gift (which, you will see, 

Quite selfishly was chosen) 
Make many a rousing cup of tea, 

And pledge your loving cousin. 

KATY ON "DUDES." 

"Your pet names are awfully good" 
(Said gentleman John, as he wooed) 

"But Katy, my queen, 

"State just what you mean, 
"When you call me your dandiest dude." 
[ 150 ] 



Then, with smile that outrivalled the dawn. 
Said cold, cruel Katy to John : 

"A dude is a thing, 

"That girls get in Spring, 
"To hang a chrysanthemum on." 

TO A YOUNG LADY 

Who was confined to her room with a very bad attack of boils. 

Of envious Fate these lines I write, 

Nor care I for her favor; 
She placed my loved one in a plight, 

Nor reached a hand to save her. 

The jealous hussy saw the bliss 

I sipped from Celia's smiles; 
And that same hour, to show her power, 

She pestered her with boils. 

But never mind, my day will come, — 

Revenge is always double ; 
And when it does, how very rum, 

If boils should be Fate's trouble. 

WRONG END TO. 

"Oh lend me a spade," 

Cried Patrick O'Dade, 

As before me he breathlessly stood ; 

"Tim Doyle in a flutter 

"Fell into the gutter, 

"And is up to his ankles in mud." 

But you don't need a spade 

When your partner can wade, 

Said I, almost ready to burst. 

"Sure, how can he wade," 

Pat gasped undismayed, 

"When he's up to his ankles head first?" 

[ 151 ] 



WHAT'S IN A NAME? 

They may call her ancient maid ; 

Intimate her stale and staid; 

And apply some other terms e'en more distressing. 

But consult her tale of woe; 

And you very soon shall know, 

That she's just an "unappropriated blessing." 

WHIST! HAVE YOU EVER BEEN EUCHRED? 

What matters if from heaven above 

She borrows every grace? 
No wife can hope for perfect love, 

Who trumps her partner's ace. 

EDITORIAL DUTIES. 

The mailboy a letter did bring; 
Around which sweet savors did cling; 

He opened it quick — 

Grew suddenly sick — 
'Twas only a poem on Spring. 

AT SEA. 

If you across the deep should roam, 
You'll feel upon the flashing foam — 
When first the billows roll and roar — 
A fear of never reaching shore; 
But later on you'll groaning think: 
Oh won't this vessel ever sink? 

SHE WAS ON A BIKE. 

A streak of light — a vision fair — ■ 

A rapid rumbling whirl — 
A figure vanishing in air — 

It was a Summer Girl. 

I 152 ] 



THE FORCE OF HABIT 

Throughout the British Isles a solicitor's charge for attendance 
is six shillings and eight pence. That amount, therefore, is the 
most frequent item on a lawyer's bill of costs. A pound, by- 
the-way, is a gold coin valued at twenty shillings. 

A lawyer, 'tis said, in a fit of abstraction, 

Once swallowed a pound — then regretted his action; 

But vain were emetics, for sad to relate — 

To custom warped stomach still clung "six and eight." 

LOVE DEFINED. 

''What is love, did you say?" 

Said a sage growing grey 

In the study of man and his ills ; 

"The complaint, when all's heard, 

Is a youth's wish absurd 

To pay a girl's dressmaker bills." 

WHAT MAY HAPPEN 

When our army is recruited from suffragettes. 

"Where," queried the Captain, "is Private O'Grade?" 
"Confined in the guardroom," quoth Corporal Cade. 
"Oh then she's been drinking; where last was she 

dined?" 
"You're wrong, sir," said Cade, "it's with twins she's 

confined." 

ON THE BACK 

Of a perpetual calendar and almanac, Jan. 7th, '86. 

This almanac will tell the time, 
Long after I have ceased to rhyme. 
But may I still be known to fame 
When it no longer has a name. 

[ 153 ] 



IRISH HOSPITALITY. 

I've wandered long both near and far, 
On foot, on horse, by boat and car; 
I've supped with ev'ry class and clan, 
From highest state to lowest ban ; 
But on my ever-varying round, 
This wholesome truth I've always found, 
To stranger guest there's nought so free 
As Irish hospitality. 

LINES 

Written after reading Carlyle's "Heroes and Hero Worship." 

To thee, oh God, this prayer I make ; 
Oh grant it for Thy mercy's sake : 
For all my tasks and labors here, 
Give me a will and heart sincere. 

AN UNFORTUNATE'S LAMENT. 

Alas ! Alas ! my case is sad indeed, 

The thoughts of what I am would make a martyr bleed. 

That I am lost, unless I quick reform, 

But makes me worse by heightening my alarm. 

My conscience warns, but woe, alas ! my will 

Is powerless to act where passion leads me still. 

MODEST BUT SINCERE. 

Though many men of hallowed name 
Have raised their tuneful lyre, 

And to its tune have courted fame 
With poet's zeal and fire ; 

Yet while such choose the fitful muse 
To make their lives seem brighter ; 

I'll be content, with Fate's consent, 
To be a short-hand writer. 

[ 154 ] 



IN MY DIARY. 

This book is a mirror whose leaves retain 
Impressions received from my heart and brain ; 
When other friends tire at my tale sincere, 
I always am welcome to tell it here. 

A RULE 

For advanced pupils in Isaac Pitman's shorthand. 

When the "f-r" and "ith-r" together close come 
Turn the form for the two like the grammalogue 

"from;" 
But should the two sounds by a vowel be divided, 
Let the curve by the grammalogue "for" be decided. 

ADVICE TO BOOKKEEPERS. 

If you'ld please your "bosses" and save yourself pains, 
You'll debit their losses and credit their gains. 

ONE VIEW OF LIFE. 

The world is a wide barren waste, 
Full of misery, want and despair; 

Its inmates are travellers spent with unrest, 
For life is the burden they bear. 

THERE IS NO WORLD. 

There is no world, I know alas too well : 
We either sing in Fleaven or groan in Hell. 

CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 

Though Worth may seem much strength to lend, 
On Fortune most our hopes depend, 
Things of the moment are we all : 
By chance we rise, or stand, or fall. 

[ 155 ] 



MISPLACED MERCY 

Let no tender feelings when battling with Passion 
Incline one to leave the grim monster half sped, 

For us, if he rallies, he makes no concession 
But feasts on our vitals until we are dead. 

PROVIDENCE. 

As Time's great cogs are slowly turning 
And youthful hours are fleeting by, 

The goals for which our hearts are yearning 
Seem to retreat at ev'ry sigh. 

And while, with hurried step pursuing, 
Sometimes we stumble on our road, 

Impatiently our ill luck rueing, — 
Behold ! we find 'twas for our good. 

Thus God our way is ever guiding, 
And when we least believe Him near, 

Lo, for our future bliss providing, 
Mid dark despair His ends appear. 

INFINITY. 

A thousand years are but an hour 

To Him who rules the spheres : 
And one short hour to that same power 

Contains a thousand years. 

IMMEDIATE DESIRE. 

Though the consequence sometimes arouses the will, 
And quenches grim Passion's fierce fire ; 

Yet the fear of the future too often fares ill, 
In the rush of immediate desire. 

[ 156 ] 



APPEARANCES ARE DECEPTIVE. 

A chief clerk, "Willie," in a Dublin Solicitor's office in which 
the author was employed as a shorthand typist, having frequently 
called attention to the heinous offense of his leaving his desk 
bare in the receiving office while engaged at the typewrite! 
upstairs, the following lines were concocted as a notice supposed 
to be handed to would-be clients, who might be led by the 
empty desk, etc., into believing the office had no business. 
"Mack" and "Willie" were always in the Receiving Room; there 
were two other clerks in another part of the building. 

Take notice all ye ! whom 'tis needful to please : 

That when you make entry hereto : 
If "Willie" and "Mack" are enjoying blank ease, 

And the desks have no papers in view — 
It is not because paying clients are rare ; 

Nor that little business here lurks; 
We've a typist above working hard for your love — 

Not to mention two real busy clerks. 



PUBLIC ECONOMY. 

While residing in Leicester, England, it was the author's 
frequent felicity to pass a building bearing the legend "Female 
Asylum," over the door. The name was quite right no doubt, 
but that it can be taken up wrong is shown by the following 
lines: 

A Female Asylum ! well that is a wonder ! 
One little step further would prove men grown wise : 
Place near this a nice Male Asylum — then ponder 
What numbers of Infant Asylums might rise. 



A TRIFLE SHY AS YET. 

"Sweet dreams, Oh My Darling," a new woman sang, 
As she stood 'neath the bower of her love; 

But her serenade ceased and her footsteps seemed 
greased, 
When his mama looked out from above. 

[ 157 ] 



THE BABY'S AVERSION TO BLOOMERS. 

Oh mama, dear, since fashion brought 

Those bloomers into style, 
My ancient trusty seat is fraught 

With dangers that beguile. 
Upon your lap no dreadful trap, 

Disturbed my early mien ; 
But now I dare not take a nap 

For fear I'll slip between. 

SHE LOVED WISELY BUT NOT TOO WELL. 

An epicure husband grown thoughtful one day, 

Enquired from the wife of his heart : 
"Since some kinds of mushrooms are poison they say, 

How best can we tell them apart?" 
Then said she who had promised to love and obey 

With a new woman wink in her eye, 
"By eating the mushrooms you'll find a sure way, 

They are poisonous, dear, if you die." 

A PASSING IDEAL. 

Oh, dear to my heart is the girl of my childhood, 
Whose limbs in vile bloomers no loafer could trace ; 

Whose hair was unbleached and who wandered the 
wildwood 
Not marred and unsexed by a bicycle face. 

AN IRONICAL ESCORT. 

"It's too bad to bring you so far from your way ; 

I'm sure I'm obliged," lisped the maid. 
"Don't mention the distance, nor thank me, I pray, 

I'd as soon see you further," he said. 

[ 158 ] 






IN THE SOUP. 

In latter clays the beardless boy 

Who wants to cut a dash, 
Deludes himself that such a joy 

Must follow a moustache. 
But take advice, unwhiskered youth, 

Nor tempt the graceful droop ; 
For soon alas you'll prove this truth : 

It's always in the soup. 

WOMAN. 

Spite of all his vaunted greatness, 
And his large expansive mind ; 

For a peer, e'en though he's mateless, 
Man need not go far to find. 

Woman, yes despotic woman, 

Makes him do whate'er she wills ; 

And that she the more may rule him, 
Hides her power in frips and frills. 

FOR SCRIPTURAL REASONS. 

Said Mama to the Dean, 
W T hom she caught hugging Jean, 

"How dare you treat Jennie so rude?" 
"Christian sister," said he, 
As devout as could be, 

"I'm holding fast that which is good." 

LET THE HORSES DECIDE. 

This fuss about wimmin-folks ridin' astride 

Seems a very unchivalrous trick ; 
What matter to man how the dear creatures ride, 

So long as the horses don't kick? 

[ 159 ] 



PRESENCE OF MIND. 

Once a man close pursued, 
By a bear, sable-hued, 

Seemed in danger of losing his life; 
For he had on the field 
Neither pistol nor shield, 

Nor a club, nor a stone, nor a knife. 

But when all thought him lost, 
To old Bruin's sad cost, 

The man in a trice turned about — 
Thrust his hand down its throat — 
Caught its tail ere it smote — 

And pulled the bear inward side out. 

TO A LANDLADY ON HER BIRTHDAY. 

May all your sorrows, cares and strife, 

And all your many troubles, 
When close examined, prove to be 

But little empty bubbles. 

Rejoice and sing with heartfelt glee 

Some pleasant joyous tune 
On this your yearly jubilee, 

The twenty-ninth of June. 

And may you still with woman's skill 

Each boarder's life beguile ; 
Nought makes them half so happy as 

The Mrs.' cheerful smile. 

A COUPLET 

Handed to a confrere in a newspaper office who had facetiously 
passed an exchange called "Knowledge" to the author with in- 
structions to get all he could from it. 

You are a generous man indeed, 

To give away what most you need. 

[ 160 ] 



ON A CHRISTMAS CARD 

To a former landlady, Mrs. J. Thurston Smith, at that time 
esiding on Torrance Street, Montreal. 

Though I'm far from Torrance Street 
And the friends that there reside, 

Fortune holds my weary feet, 
And all homeward movements chide. 

Yet I'm comforted by knowing 
That their friendship is no myth ; 

And a token of that knowledge 
Is this card to Mrs. Smith. 



TO A FRIEND ON HIS 36th BIRTHDAY. 

Old Friend, although I can't portend 
What birthday hopes may do, 

Yet, in good faith, I glad extend 
These hopes sincere to you : 

You now have reached a time in life 

That laughs at foolish fears, 
A point, that sages wise might call, 

The noontide of your years. 

I therefore need not wish you'll be 

Exempt from evil sway ; 
You sure won't step from Wisdom's knee 

To follow Fashion's way. 

But may you scale Ambition's height — 
That longed for spot so dear, 

That peak that in man's morning bright 
Stands out so full and clear. 



[ 161 



May Comfort, too, her mantle warm 

Across your shoulders throw 
May Pleasure lavish every charm 

And ward from every woe. 

And when, at last, old age has changed 

Your locks to flowing white, 
May life with sunset beauties crowned 

Fade off in peaceful night. 

ON AN XMAS CARD 

To a fellow-member of a literary society called "The Roscoe." 

Here's to the dear friend I consider my best; 

Without him I fear I'd be lost, oh ! 
His worth I have often put hard to the test, 

By pressing him close in the Roscoe. 

I like him, because he is honest and true ; 

Because by ill winds he's not tost, oh ! 
Because he is one of the well-favored few 

Belonging to famous old Roscoe. 

It's Milligan, upright and just, that I mean; 

And when o'er his body shall moss grow ; 
High up on his tomb this one line should be seen : 

"Here lies the best man in the Roscoe." 

WHAT IS "IT?" A CONUNDRUM. 

Though Death knows it not yet all Life feels its spell ; 
'Tis a stranger to heaven but common in he//; 
And yet strange to say it is absent from heat ; 
While co/d, when without it, is quite incomplete. 
Watery wastes will not hold it ; dry /and shows it plain ; 
It's a part of a /ady mere man can't contain : 

[ 162 ] 



Miss Large whom I know in the front has this part; 
It's behind on Miss Small in spite of her art; 
Mrs. Lya.1 who is stout, fore and aft, has my riddle; 
And bashful Miss Wa/es has it hid in the middle. 
But while each girl has it, whether wished for or not : 
Poor Po//y, my sweetheart, has it twice in one spot. 

TO TOM ROSEBLADE 

With a Wedding Present. 

Dear Tom, please accept this small gift from a friend, 
For with it good wishes I also do send ; 
May you be so well pleased with your wife and your lot, 
That you'll never be sorry for "tying the knot." 

May the pleasures of life o'er your pathway be spread, 
And may long years of comfort roll over your head, 
And when little Roseblades come round you to worry, 
Call one of them after your railroad friend Currie. 

LINES INSCRIBED. 

On a blank leaf in a set of Shakespeare's works presented as 
a parting gift to a friend. 

If you would know your fellow-man, 
Or close his helpmeet woman scan, 
Here turn your gaze ; for in these books 
Are shown the foibles, whims and crooks, 
The good and ill, the hope and fear, 
That through these lives of ours appear. 
Bear well in mind what Shakespeare says, 
And you will thank him all your days. 



[ 163 ] 



XMAS GREETINGS ON THE BACK OF A 
PHOTOGRAPH. 

If one you'ld view 
Who wishes you 
A merry Christmas tide, 
With health and cheer 
Through all next year : 
Turn to the other side. 

HOW LIFE IS PUNCTUATED. 

This was written for a typewriting friend who had occasionally 
striven to enlighten the author in the trick of punctuating. It 
was an acrostic on the name of the typewriter's sweetheart. 

Life is but a page of sorrow, 
Underscored with grief and woe ; 
Leisure moments are its commas 
f/sed each breathing place to show; 
Hopeful half hours, like the periods, 
Only here and there are found ; 
WTiile its hours of bliss still scarcer, 
L'en as paragraphs abound. 

THE CURE FOR ALL ILLS. 

A reminiscence of railroading days. 

Though the drivers are skidded, or scorched the 

crown-sheet ; 
Though the journals and big-ends are ruined with 

heat ; 
Though the staybolts are leaking, the flues all worn out ; 
Though the engine's a scrap heap without any doubt : 
Like the old wife who doses all patients with pills ; 
Our Master Mechanic has one cure for all ills : 
In the roundhouse he carefully notes each complaint 
And prescribes for all ailments a new coat of paint. 

[ 164 ] 



A ROLLING STONE. 

That a rolling stone gathers no moss 
Is a truth that all ramblers will learn; 

But while it escapes from the dross — 
It gets polished at every turn. 

A EUCHRE PLAYER'S SOLILOQUY 

On her lover, whose name was Arthur Hart, and who was 
sometimes called "Art" for short. 

I'm feeling gay and glad at heart, 
I have a hand of unmatched art; 
For hearts are trump and I've a Hart, 
That, though not played quite a la carte, 
Yet takes each trick — then makes me start : 
Because when played 'tis still my Hart. 
Oh Art! Fond artless Art! Thou art 
My Hart, My Deer! My dear, Dear Heart. 



[ 165 ] 



TENDERFEET IN ALASKA 

OR 

SCARED BY MINERS YARNS 



A MUSICAL COMEDY 
IN FOUR ACTS 



CHARACTERS. 

Theodore Spoopcndikc, a New York dude, who be- 
lieves he has but to go to Klondike and his superior 
attainments will give him great advantage over ordi- 
nary illiterate miners. He is tall and thin, conceited, 
credulous, dense, somewhat religious, and brave only 
when it is to maintain his idea of his own superior- 
ity. It takes him some time to discover that "the 
lower classes" are not always overwhelmed with the 
honor of his company. Amenable to the most bare- 
faced flattery, ridiculously uninformed about the 
ordinary things of life. It is only in matters of 
dress that he is without a peer. 

Tommy Tompkins, his valet, who is intensely practical. 
A short, supple cockney, somewhat modified by 
travel. A type that makes friends everywhere — 
spunky, able to do anything from sing a song to 
lighting a fire ; and who finally gets all there is in 
"the Expedition to Klondike." 

Willoughby, alias the Deacon, alias Dick, an old-time 
miner. He is tall and dignified, with a grey mous- 
tache and pointed goatee, and speaks as though butter 
would not melt in his mouth when talking to 
strangers. He never smiles, although an incorrigible 
practical joker. The ease with which he is won by 
Aunt Jemima shows how scarce women are in 
Alaska. 

Snow, alias the Colonel, alias George, alias the trage- 
dian, a frequent combination in Alaska. Mercurial 
in disposition, medium sized, clean shaven, well edu- 
cated, and a good mimic. His stories are always 
noted for correct dialect. An old-time miner and 
Willoughby's partner. 

Slim Jim, also a very common type in a mining camp. 
A typical daredevil Western saloon-keeper — blunt, 
coarse, swaggering, a very terror to conceit, who 
is spare and gaunt looking, swears like a trooper and 
chews tobacco incessantly. 

Captain Rudlin, a fat, round-faced old sea dog, with a 
muffler of white hair reaching under his chin from 
ear to ear. The essence of kindness and good nature. 

[ 169 ] 



Isabel Lovejoy, in love with Theodore. A sentimental, 
butterfly creature from Boston — just such a one as 
would fall in love with a Theodore. 

Aunt Jemima, a New England woman who looks and 
acts like an interrogation point. Tall, somewhat 
deaf, very practical, and talks noticeably through her 
nose. Isabel's Chaperon. 

Starlitz, below medium height, stout, goodlooking, easily 
captivated, like all Alaska native women, and also 
like her race, a trifle bowlegged, which adds to the 
comedy of her dancing. 

Miners, Sailors, Waiters, Tourists and Indians. 



ACT I— ALL ABOARD FOR KLONDIKE. 

Scene 1 — The Captain's Cabin on board ship. 
Scene 2 — The Social Room. 
Scene 3 — The Dining Room. 
Scene 4 — On Deck at Wharf. 

ACT II— AMONG THE PHILISTINES. 

Scene 1 — Slim Jim's Saloon at Juneau. 
Scene 2 — Dance Hall off Saloon. 

ACT III— STILL AMONG PHILISTINES. 

Scene 1 — In Woods near Juneau. 
Scene 2 — Shore near Juneau. 
Scene 3 — Willoughby's Camp. 

ACT IV— EN ROUTE FOR HOME. 

Scene 1 — Shore of Takoo Inlet. 
Scene 2 — Theodore's Camp. 
Scene 3 — Back on Board Ship. 



[ 170 ] 



ACT I— ALL ABOARD FOR KLONDIKE. 
Scene I. 

Captain Rudlin — (Discovered in easy posture in his 
own cabin on board the steamer reading a letter. — 
Enter ll'illouyhby.) 

Halloa, Deacon. We'll soon be at Juneau. 

ll'illouyhby — Can't be thar any too soon for me, Cap. 
I'm anxious to get back with the boys ag'in. I ain't 
used to the stuckup ways of your starched front city 
life. Give me a good rousin' camp everytime. 

Captain — How long is it since you were at 'Frisco 
last, Deacon? 

Willoughby — Nigh on to thirty years, Cap. I don't 
believe I've been so fur south since the sixties. I re- 
member going to winter thar just after the second 
Fraser River excitement, but the place had changed so 
from the old free and easy days that I never went 
ag'in. 

Captain — I don't blame you, Mate. A man who has 
spent his days in the mountains is something like a 
sailor, he ain't no account in a town anyhow. He's dead 
sure to miss his reckoning, and before he can say Jack 
Robinson he's on his beam ends — that is unless he's 
married. A good wife will keep any man straight. 
But say, old man, what do you think of the Klondike 
crowd? 

Willoughby — Moths, Cap ; — a ship load of feather- 
weights — and they'll leave the Land of the Midnight 
Sun in a few months' time with their wings terribly 
burnt. If we don't have some blizzards of misery be- 
fore the Winter's out, I'll sell old "Yellow Belly" for 
a two-bit hat ; and I refused $20,000 for the mine last- 
week. It's my candid conviction thar ain't ten men 
the whole outfit worth their grubstake. Why ever, 
man Jack of 'em wears gaiters and a standup collar. 
Who ever heard of a man with his head and feet in 
corals expectin' to pan out gold? But the boys will have 
some sport out of them at all events, even if they do 
finally have to put up the stuff to send them home to 
their Ma's. 

Captain — Ha ! ha ! What do you think of the young 
hopeful in the cabin — the chap with the valet, I mean? 

Willoughby — A milksop from away back. He'll be 
an ornament to the diggins. If it wasn't for his clothes 

[ 171 ] 



and that same little valet, he'd fall to pieces. I've 
been havin' my after dinner laugh at him every day 
since we left the Sound. Why, it was only today he 
asked me if I put any stock in that story about the 
frozen city being inhabited — you've heard the yarns 
about the frozen city and the floating island, haven't you? 

Captain— That I have. Ha! ha! Some of Miner 
Bruce's guff, when he got among some too credulous 
newspaper men, ha ! ha ! 

Willoughby — Well, you see the swell has got hold of 
the stories, and can credit everything but the inhabitant 
part of the frozen city. He has a theory, he says, 
"that the floating island is the same one — don't you 
know — seen by a great explorer of the last century, 
named Gulliver — don't you know — " but he can't ac- 
count for frozen people being alive. 

Captain — And what did you say, Dick? I'll warrant 
you kept up your reputation. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Willoughby — He didn't prove anything by me, Cap. 
You can bet your bottom dollar on that. I told him I 
was with Bruce at the time he saw the phenomena. 

Captain — Ha! ha! And did you say he would be 
likely to see it himself on his way to Klondike? 

Willoughby— No, Cap. I try never to volunteer any 
information to strangers, it looks too much like lying. 
I simply used the old dodge of answering all his ques- 
tions in the affirmative. You see it's professional honor 
with us miners not to have any person leave the country 
disappointed. Now it stands to reason that if a man 
finds out something he has read is not according to 
Hoyle, it has a tendency in that direction. 

Captain — Ha ! ha ! I like that expression "professional 
honor," Deacon. It covers a multitude of practical 
jokes and some of the toughest yarns I've ever heard. 
I suppose you would call the "Salting" of the Bear's 
Nest professional honor too. That was a scurvy trick, 
Dick. No matter how you look at it. The idea of 
inducing those German capitalists to sink a million in 
a plant and improvements only to find, when they came 
to use them, that the whole thing was a hoax. That was 
going too far — too far altogether. As the Irishman 
says "Oi can take a joke as well as any man, but when 
an undhertaker comes to my back window and sings : 
'Oim waitin', my dariint, for thee,' that's going too far." 

Willoughby — No; that wasn't square, I'll admit. But 
the man who had most to do with the Bear's Nest 
swindle was no common land lubber but a man of your 
profession. You know who I mean? If he hadn't had 

[ 172 ] 



a part interest in the claim no one else could have 
procured so much unmiiled ore from Treadwell's. Any- 
way, it serves the German Company right for sending 
up such a greeny as an expert. Any fool should have 
smelt a rat when the rock came out of the bogus shaft 
with so little trouble. But it's the way of the world. 
No man, be he rich or poor ; young or old ; mossback 
or tenderfoot ; educated or uneducated can properly 
realize a truth till he's been bitten. The only difference 
between men, in my opinion — you can take it for what 
it's worth — is that one fool pays less for his experience 
than another. 

Captain — True, oh king. Ha! ha! 

Willoughby — Now, Cap, if I was the hard-hearted 
villain you take me for, I might have had a finger in 
a worse pie than the Bear's Nest. Last Spring I got 
a letter from an English Syndicate enclosing a pros- 
pectus which they wanted me to report on before they 
invested in a company, proposed to be formed on the 
strength of it. I read that prospectus through, Cap, 
and it beat Old Nick what an imagination the man 
who wrote it had. It told about an Eldorado being 
discovered that put Treadwell's in the shade. It told 
how Western capitalists had at once bought up tne 
claim and put a 300 stamp mill on an especially fine 
site nearby, at a fabulous expense. It told of a river 
being dammed for power and of everything being in 
readiness to begin the work of pounding out gold. The 
best part of it all was, that the location was so care- 
fully described that by the holy smoke I had to go and 
look to convince myself it wasn't so. Thar was a 
small stream thar, to be sure, but that was all. 

Captain — And what did you tell them, Deacon? 

Willoughby — Oh, I didn't say much, Cap. I wrote 
'em the old chestnut "Thar may be a dam by a mill site, 
but thar ain't no mill by a dam site." 

Captain — Ha ! ha ! ha ! But coming back to the sub- 
ject: would you believe that that young un in the cabin 
has turned up his nose at a palace in New York? 

Willoughby — You don't say ! Well, what next ? 

Captain — I have a letter from his father here. Read 
it for yourself. I hardly know what to do about it. 

Willoughby — (Takes letter and reads aloud) "Dear 
Sir : Kindly excuse this communication from a stranger 
but I have just learned that my son, Theodore, has taken 
passage by your steamer for Alaska, enroute for Klon- 
dike. It is entirely against the wishes of his mother and 
myself that he takes this step and we feel confident that 

[ 173 ] 



he is unable to undertake the fatigue necessary to the 
successful carrying; out of his visionary project. I 
have been making him an allowance of $10,000 a year 
(which I thought ample for the ordinary expenses of 
a young man 23 years old), but he insists upon its 
being a niggardly allotment and wilfully disobeyed my 
express commands in order to materially increase his 
income. He has been used to society life and as my 
only heir has been flattered into believing himself a 
person of extraordinary attainments. His mother is 
not strong and is worrying herself to such an extent 
that I feel constrained to offer you anything in reason 
if you can succeed in inducing the boy to forego his 
absurd plans. . 

"Trusting that this letter may arrive in time and that 
you will prove more persuasive with the young man 
than those who have his best interests at heart, in spite 
of his disobedience, I am, etc. Theodore Spoopendyke." 

Captain— It ain't a question of money, you see. The 
mother wired before I left the Sound to spare no ex- 
pense in the matter but to send her boy home safe at all 
hazards. I've reasoned with the young man, but he 
found out I was authorized by his father and so thinks 
that all I say is a put-up job. 

Willoughby—l can understand that, too, because I ve 
been painting the country up to him in the most rosy 
hue. If you had told me earlier, Cap, I'd have scared 
him from ever leaving the ship. 

Captain— I believe you, Dick. It would not be the 
first youth you've scared out of a year's growth.— And 
you always look so serious that not a one of them 
suspects you. But I thought to let this one down easy 
and when I found his sweetheart was aboard as a 
tourist, I imagined I could bribe her into doing some- 
thing with him. But she's just his fit to a nicety— 
another edition of himself in feminine garb — and I 
have given up hopes in her direction. She means well, 
but doesn't know enough to pound sand. 

Willoughby—Hzs he much of an outfit? 

Captain— An outfit. Well I say he has. There must 
be a ton of stuff aboard that he calls outfit and it in 
itself is proof sufficient of his utter ignorance of the 
condition that awaits him. 

W ill on ghby— -Wall, since thar's a fair day's pickin in 
it I'll undertake to have the kid back with you on your 
return trip below — valet, outfit, and all. In the mean- 
time you cheer him up, set him on to me offhand-like 
as an experienced miner, and leave the rest to yours 

\ 174 ] 



truly and "the boys." But the wind's veering to the 
east, Cap. We'll have a swell crossing the Takoo. 

Captain — Yes, I'll have to be off to the bridge. Be 
on hand early at dinner, Deacon. I'll arrange to have 
him sit at my table and will introduce the subject there. 
As a matter of fact it's the only chance I'll have to see 
the young blood before he goes ashore. 

(Exeunt talking). 
Scene II. 

Isabel — (Discovered in an affectionate position with 
Theodore in the social room of the steamer) 

Theedy, dear, do you love me? 

Theodore — Isabel, my dawling, how can you awsk int 
such a question? 

Isabel — I thought you did, Theedy, since you have 
told me so, so many times ; But, dear, do not be angry 
because I want to hear your sweet voice say so again. 

Theodore — Well, my dawling, (very tenderly) I love 
you more than I can describe. 

Isabel — That's just like you, Theedy; you always 
leave me in doubt. If you don't describe how much 
you love me, how can I ever tell whether you love me 
at all? (pouts) 

Theodore — Oh, Dawling — My only Isabel — don't cry 
for goodness sake. The reason of my inability to de- 
scribe my love, don't you know, is because of its 
immensity. My heart beats and throbs for you like — 
like the engine in the hold of this ship. 

Isabel — Stop, Stop, do stop, Theedy, for mercy's sake. 
It makes me seasick to think of that horrid engine. But 
if you do love me as you say, will you do me a favor? 

Theodore — A favor — I will do you a thousand favors, 
dawling. For your sake have I determined to go to 
the gold-fields — yes even to endure the company of 
those vulgar persons who call themselves miners — don't 
you know — in order that I may show them their busi- 
ness from a-ah-refined standpoint, and at the same time 
become the more able to confer on you any favor you 
may possibly awsk. 

Isabel — But, Theedy — my own Theedy — That is just 
what I was going to speak of. I have promised Captain 
Rudlin that I would use my influence to keep you from 
going to Klondike. 

Theodore — Why then, Isabel, it is not you but Captain 
Rudlin who wants the favor and I am quite sure his 

r 175 ] 



desire comes from my fawther, whose beastly in- 
significant allowance of $10,000 a year to a gentleman 
of my many needs, don't you know, has kept us apart 
so long. No, indeed, I will stand it no longer. I will 
go to the mines and with my superior attainments it 
will only be a few short weeks before I will be back 
to lead you to the altar, and then, don't you know, we 
shall live happy ever after. 

Isabel — (Who in her admiration forgets her request) 

How nice ! 

Theodore — Yes, dawling. Why it was only the other 
day I read about a menial fellow — an Irishman, don't 
you know — whose hair was red as a beet, the paper 
said, — and who like as not chewed tobacco, ate onions 
and all sorts of other vulgar things, don't you know : 
and this creature, would you believe it, actually made 
$75,000 in one Winter. Now dawling, with these facts 
in mind is it not probable that with my accomplishments 
and aristocratic breeding I can do ten times better than 
that, to say the least? 

Isabel — Of course you can, Theedy. How jolly it will 
be to do nothing all day but just pick up gold. Say, 
Theedy, wouldn't it be nice if I went along. I have 
my bloomers. I brought them to climb the mountains, 
you know, and we could telegraph for a bicycle built 
for two as soon as we get ashore. 

Theodore — But, dawling, don't you know these mines 
are in a Bwitish country and there would be a double 
duty on a bicycle of that kind. 

Isabel — How wise you are, Theedy. Isn't it funny I 
never thought of that — and Aunt Jemima wouldn't hear 
of me going anyway. But, Theedy dear, must I wait 
all Winter for you? 

Theodore — Not if I know it, dawling. I have pro- 
vided against every hazard. I have even procured a 
valet who was born in London to speak the — ah — dia- 
lect of the Bwitishers, so that I think a month at the 
most will see me back to your loving arms. 

Isabel — How nice ! 

Theodore — Yes, dawling, as I said before, I have made 
a careful study of the matter. Indeed I spent two whole 
afternoons making inquiries, don't you know, in order 
that we may not be apart one moment longer than is 
necessary. I have even purchased one of those cash 
registers so that I may know when I have enough 
without having to take time to count it. 

Isabel — Oh, Theedy, you are so wise. Is it any won- 

E 176 ] 



der that I love you. But, Theedy dear, the Captain 
said it was cold in the Klondike. 

Theodore — Yes, dawling, I found that out while read- 
ing about the frozen city, and so I have as a part of my 
outfit a gas stove fitted up with a heating drum and 
all modern improvements. 

Isabel — Do you know, Theedy dear, whenever I think 
how wise you are, I wonder if you ever take anything to 
cool your brain. I read in the Ladies Home Journal 
once that cold water applied to the foreheads of men 
who think a lot has a soothing effect, and when we are 
married I am going to put some on you. Can I, dear? 

Theodore — Yes, dawling. 

Aunt Jemima — (Entering with spectacles on and in 
great haste) Izzy — Izzy. Oh, my sakes alive, child, where 
have you been? Don't you know you should never go 
anywhere without your chaperon? (pronounced with a 
strong New England nasal twang that makes the last 
word sound like "Chap around.") 

Isabel — Yes, Auntie — I have been with Mr. Spoopen- 
dyke. 

Aunt Jemima — Haow? 

Isabel — Mr. Spoopendyke. 

Aunt Jemima — Dew tell. How blind I do be gitting. 
You dew keep agrowing, Theedy. I see a change since 
you came aboard. You'll soon be a man, won't you? 
You are most as tall as my much lamented Hezekiah, 
and they did used to say as how Hezekiah wuz a living 
picture of Uncle Sam. But, Theedy, do you sing? 
(Looking toward piano.) 

Theodore — Me sing, madam. Decidedly not. I 

(indignantly) 

_ Aunt Jemima — Haow ? I didn't ketch you. Dew 
sing. Sing out loud, as I don't hear any too well since 
Hezekiah died. 

Isabel — (Seeing Theodore's indignation talks low to 
prevent Aunt Jemima hearing.) Don't mind her, 
Theedy, remember she is from the country — and country 
folks are always so cranky. We must amuse her some- 
how. 

Theodore — Madam I do not smg; but my new valet 
was a music hall singer once, I will bring him in to 
amuse you. 

(Exit Theedy, and return with Tommy Tompkins. 
While he is gone Aunt Jemima continues talking and 
when she ceases Tommy is heard in the wings.) 

Aunt Jemima — You don't sing — why how shiftless. 
In New England the boys and girls all sing like tops. 

[ 177 ] 



Come to think of it — it wuz at singin' skule that I 
first met Hezekiah. 

THE OLDTIME SINGING SCHOOL 

As my brow begins to furrow, 

And my thinning hair grows white ; 
As my ears begin to fail me 

And I slowly lose my sight : 
In the quiet of the shadows 

As the passion fires grow cool, 
I recall my youthful pleasures 

At the oldtime singing school. 

The oldtime singing school 

The oldtime singing school 
The happy days of innocence 
At the oldtime singing school 

Where guileless love and music sweet 
Were measured out by rule 
At the oldtime singing school 
The oldtime singing school. 

Do— Me— Sol— Do 
Do— Sol— Me— Do 
At the oldtime singing school. 

The master and his tuning fork 

I see in memory's view 
Assume his old position 

At the village school I knew ; 
While round about with laughing hearts 

(Our lips his ready tool) 
The lads and lasses raised the tune 

At the oldtime singing school. 

To sing — to live — to love we aimed, 

To love and live and sing 
Old fogy care was banished quite — 

[ 178 ] 



Life had a joyous ring: 
And lessons over home we walked 

In pairs that knew no dool ; 
Till night was like a day in June — 

At the oldtime singing school. 

Tommy — (Speaking as he comes in.) Were is 'er 
Ryal Nibs. I'm not much of a bird nowadays, as you 
will soon know, Guv. ; but since hit's bread and butter, 
I alius makes a pint of not fightin' with wot I 'as to 
heat. Ah ! 'ere we are. Say, will I sing that song about 
the Klondike? Yer can jine in the chorus if yer likes. 
(Starts to sing) "Oh won't we cut a 'owling dash." 

Aunt Jemima — (Drowning him out) Izzy, my child, 
who is that person ? 

Tommy — What ho, that's so. I forgot to introduce 
myself, didn't I? W'y, I'm Tommy Tompkins, hes- 
quire, late of Puddin 'ead Court, London, Hengland, 
formerly a music 'all singer, but now chief shoe shiner 
and 'air brusher to 'is 'ighness, the Guvnor, 'ere. 

Aunt Jemima — Dew tell! 

Tommy — (Mistaking this term of wonder as a re- 
quest to repeat) Certainly. Tommy Tompkins, hes- 
quire, late of Puddin 'ead Court, London, Hengland. 
Formerly a music 'all singer — now chief shoeshiner 
(I means valet) to 'is 'ighness 'ere. I've come to sing 
you a song about the Klondike, (using all the accents 
of omission and commission of a cockney to the old 
lady's complete bewilderment.) 

Aunt Jemima — Dew tell I 

Tommy — All right, ole lady, the song will tell itself — 
if yer listen hattentively. Aside — Wot a curious ole 
duffer she his. 

Aunt Jemima — Izzy dear — what language does that 
little critter speak — German? 

Isabel — No Auntie ; he's a Britisher. He talks the 
language of the natives at Klondike. 

Aunt Jemima — Dew tell! Well, if he's going to sing, 
tell him to sing loud, to see if I can understand a word 
here and there. 

Isabel — Mr. Tompkins, I hope you'll not mind what 
Auntie says, she's a little "mite" peculiar. 

Tommy — Oh, I don't mind, Miss. Hit's my bread hand 
butter, you see, and I makes a pint of never fighting 
with wot I 'as to heat. (Clears his throat.) 

[ 179 ] 



WHEN WE COME BACK FROM KLONDIKE. 

Oh won't we cut a howling dash? 
Izzy — When ? 

When we come back from Klondike. 
The world will have a plague of cash ; 
Theedy — When ? 

When we come back from Klondike. 
No more will strikers "win or die," 
The Socialists will cease to sigh, 
For gold like Summer dust will fly — 
Aunt Jemima — When? 

When we come back from Klondike. 

There'll be no "cops" to interfere, 

When we come back from Klondike. 
They'll all be counting out their gear. 

When we come back from Klondike. 
The drinking fountains, free as air, 
Upon demand will sparkle clear 
With bovril, lemonade or beer : 

When we come back from Klondike. 

No longer will fair ladies' hats 
When we come back from Klondike. 

At theatres cause untold spats 

When we come back from Klondike. 

We'll stop all hindrance to man's ease, 

Skirts then will scorn to climb the breeze ; 

E'en pants will cease to bag at knees — 
When we come back from Klondike. 

We'll double Wolseley's awkward squads, 
When we come back from Klondike. 

By giving soldiers larger wads — 
When we come back from Klondike. 



r i8o ] 



When mud the streets of London clogs, 
And they are like fam'd Irish bogs, 
To hide them we'll IMPORT some fogs — 
When we come back from Klondike. 

We'll see that Cupid's darts are greased 
When we come back from Klondike. 
And that his victims are increased 

When we come back from Klondike. 
On straitened lovers who would wed 
But have not where to lay their head 
Wealth's happy sunshine we will shed 
When we come back from Klondike. 

This being a topical song, it is anticipated that verses to suit 
local conditions will be inserted. 

(One of the listeners puts in the interrogation, When! 
at the end of each line to be answered as in first verse.) 

Aunt Jemima — W r hy, Izzy, some of that sounds like 
United States. Young man, be you able to understand 
what I say? 

Tommy — Oh yes, Missis, I can understand everythink. 

Aunt Jemima — Haow? 

(This exclamation is Yankee for "What do you say?" 
but Tommy misunderstands and says:) 

Tommy — W'y by listening, of course. 

i neodore — (Who has been enjoying a tete-a-tete with 
Isabel) That's right, Tommy, keep the old lady in- 
terested, you lenow. 

Aunt Jemima — Haow? 

Tommy — That's wot I'd like to know. (Gong sounds 
for dinner) But there's the bell for 'ash. I'm hoff. 

Exeunt. 

Scene III. 

Captain — (Discovered at head of dining table around 
which all characters so far introduced with as many 
others are seated.) Well, Mr. Spoopendike, are you still 
determined upon facing the difficulties of the interior? 

Theodore — Quite determined, Captain, don't you 
know; of course I am very grateful to you for your 
repeated warnings, but — don't you know — we look at 
matters from entirely different standpoints. I have 

[ 181 ] 



long been convinced of the fact that a college education 
and the advantages of having mingled with the higher 
classes in early life are everything that is necessary in 
any undertaking. 

Captain — Well, if sticking to one's ideas in spite of 
the devil is a virtue, you are the most virtuous young 
man I've ever sailed with. By-the-way, Mr. Willoughby, 
here, is a miner of many years' experience. He's been 
a miner ever since I came to the coast — and I ain't no 
tenderfoot, am I Dick? 

Willoughby — I reckon not. 

Tommy — Wot's a tenderfoot, Cap'n? 

Captain — Why, that's rather a peculiar question. 
When you've been going to and fro among miners as 
long as I have, you won't ask such questions, else you're 
liable to get bitten. Supposin', however, that I answer 
by saying "you're a tenderfoot," there'll be no harm 
done and you'll be that much the wiser, eh, Dick? Ha! 
ha! 

Willoughby — You've missed your calling, Cap, you 
should have been a diplomat. 

Captain — I s'pose so. But when you come to think of 
it, everyone that asks that question is a tenderfoot by 
foregone conclusion — But coming back to the subject, 
Mr. Spoopendike, I would use this opportunity of 
recommending Mr. Willoughby as a thoroughly practi- 
cal man. What he doesn't know about the Klondike 
country ain't worth knowing. 

Theodore — Yes, so I learned incidentally, don't you 
know. (Patronizingly) I have been quite pleased to 
find that he does know a good deal about the country. 

Willoughby — I'm so glad to hear you say so, Mr. 
Spoopendike. Indeed it gives me courage to ask the 
favor of being allowed to travel near you into the 
Yukon. By this condescension I shall have the privilege 
of enjoying your discourse and at the same time we will 
be able to confer on any matters that may come up as 
a precaution for mutual safety. 

Isabel — (aside to Theodore) Oh Theedy, what a 
nice man he is. 

Willoughby — Of course I would not think of asking 
this favor for nothing and shall endeavor to be youi 
guide over such parts of the country as may have es- 
caped your attention. (Winks at Captain.) 

Theodore — Aw Deah, I am a thousand times obliged, 
Mr. Willoughby, for your kind offer — don't you know — 
and shall have no objection whatever to your remaining 
near my camp. But you see I studied geography quite 

[ 182 ] 



extensively at college and have with me a very reliable 
map of the country. 

IVilloughby — Indeed ! Is it one of those printed 
since the scare began? 

Theodore — Oh my, no. Not at all. I looked out for 
that. It was published at least 20 years ago and like 
old wine — don't you know — has the inestimable ad- 
vantage of age. 

Captain — Your map has the advantage of age, has it? 
What a bright young man you are, to be sure. Ha ! ha ! 

Isabel — Oh Captain, you don't know him yet. I'm 
real proud of him — indeed 1 am. 

IVilloughby — But, Mr. Spoopendike, you may need 
some assistance in dealing with the natives. My long 
experience among them is at your disposal. 

Theodore — Your kindness overwhelms me, but — don't 
you know — I have been careful in that particular also ; 
and my valet, here, is a Bwitisher. 

Tommy — Right you are, Guvnor. 

IVilloughby — But Indians are not always Britishers. 

Theodore — (somewhat surprised) Then there are 
Indians in the country? 

Willoughby — Yes, a chap is liable to run up against 
one or two when his gun ain't loaded. 

Isabel — Oh Theedy, hadn't you better not go. They 
may scalp you, or something. 

Theodore — Have no fear on that score. I have a 
complete cowboy's outfit and I will exterminate the race 
if they interfere with my plans. 

Isabel — (admiringly) The women too? 

Theodore — No. I'll leave the women and children 
for Tommy to deal with. 

Captain — Ha! ha! what have you to say to that, 
Tommy? 

Tommy — Since hit's my bread hand butter there hain't 
no use fightin' with wot I 'as to heat. 

IVilloughby — Thar's obedience for you, Cap. That's 
the stuff that valets are made of. He'd make a first- 
class sailor. It's a very sensible way of looking at the 
slaughter of innocents. 

Aunt Jemima — Haow ! Yes indeed, the boy is innocent. 
I be a trifle hard of hearing, but it appears to me the 
boy is making all fired quick work of United States. 
I calc'late he'll soon talk like a book. He's most as 
smart as my much lamented Hezekiah wuz when I 
first met him. 

Willoughby — Then you have been married, Miss ? 

Aunt Jemima — (Growing confidential at the flattery) 

[ 183 ] 



Ah yes. It's nigh on five and twenty years since my 
dear Hezekiah was called away. (Tears.) 

Willoughby — Indeed, my good lady, I would never 
have known you were that old. You keep your age 
wonderfully. You are from Massachusetts, ain't you? 

Aunt Jemima — Yes, kind sir — forty miles from Bos- 
ton, as the crow flies. Ochone ! 

Willoughby — I thought so when I saw you on deck. 
I'm right glad to meet you, even though we must part 
so soon. I never saw a person from Massachusetts yet 
that didn't make me think my time had come to go back 
to the old homestead, especially if that person is an 
attractive lady like you. But, changing the subject, Mr. 
Spoopendike am I to understand that my services as 
guide and Indian interpreter are accepted? 

Theodore — (patronizingly) Well, really, Mr. Wil- 
loughby, I do not wish to encumber myself with more 
persons than I can conveniently protect — but since the 
Indian question has come up and I am ignorant of 
their dialect, probably it would be as well — don't you 
know — to have someone along who can tell them what 
will happen if they raise any disturbance. 

Isabel — I can speak Italian, if that is what they talk — 
you know I would so like to come with you, Theedy. 
Is that the language they speak, Mr. Willoughby? 

Willoughby — Well no, Miss. It tain't exactly a lan- 
guage they speak — it's more of a jargon — the Chinook 
jargon we call it. 

Isabel — "Chinook jargon." How odd it sounds. I'm 
sure it must be very sentimental. 

Willoughby — No more than necessary. At least the 
Government Agent didn't think so when he came up to 
flatter the Siwashes into giving away some of their 
rights. Eh, Cap ? 

Captain — Not very — No. 

Isabel — Oh, do tell us about it, Mr. Willoughby. 

Willoughby — Thar ain't nothin' much to tell. The 
agent got the Indians together and started out boldly 
into the old sentimental standby : "Children of the 
Forest." The interpreter translated it carefully, and 
that was all the agent had a chance to say, in conse- 
quence. 

Isabel — Why, what do you mean, Mr. Willoughby? 

Willoughby — I mean what I say, Miss. You see the 
only way "children of the forest" could be translated into 
Chinook was to say, "Little men among the big sticks ;" 
and that wasn't the way Siwashes cared to be addressed. 

Captain — They weren't much to blame, either. But 

[ 184 ] 



I'm glad you have decided to let the Deacon accompany 
you, Mr. Spoopendike — for your mutual safety, eh, 
Dick? It is just possible the Indians could not discern 
at once your college education and superior raising — or 
worse still, they might make the mistake the little girl 
did when she was in the forecastle with her mama. 

Willoughby — What was that, Cap? 

Captain — Haven't you heard the yarn, mate. Why 
some of the deck hands happened to come along and 
the little girl whispered to her mama : "Oh mama, look 
at the men !" The mama shook her little spring off in a 
chiding sort of way and said, "Hush darling, those are 
only common sailors." There was a distinct pause for 
a moment in which you could have heard a bed tick, 
when suddenly the silence was broken by the little one's 
voice saying : "Well, they look like men, don't they 
mama?" 

(Laughter) 

But here we are at Takoo Inlet. We are likely to 
have a pleasant little swell. 

Isabel — A little swell? 

(Signs of seasickness all around.) 

Theodore — The vessel does woll a little, don't you 
know. By-the-way, will you excuse me, gentlemen 
(signs of subdued seasickness). 

Willoughby — (winking at Captain) Then I am en- 
gaged as interpreter of the Spoopendike-Klondike ex- 
pedition? 

Theodore — Certainly (hand to mouth). 

Willoughby — Don't hurry off, Mr. Spoopendike. Here, 
have some more of this fat gravy. Let's be sociable, 
seeing it's our last meal aboard. 

Theodore — (attempting to get past Dick, who detains 

him.) Weally, gentlemen, I am sorry but I must 

go, don't you know I left (violent symptoms) beg 

pardon, but I left my cabin door open and ah 

someone may steal my ah (more violent 

symptoms) ah my night dress. Excuse me, weally. 
(Exit in haste) 

Isabel — Oh this swell is horrid. Will it soon be over, 
Captain? 

Captain — Why, I thought you had your sea legs on 
by this time, young lady. I thought you were going 
to make a good sailor when you came aboard. 

Isabel — Oh, but I'm not, I — I — ah (half swallowing 
handkerchief) excuse me. 

(Exit in haste also) 

Aunt Jemima — Izzy — Izzy, come back here. How dare 

[ 185 ] 



you leave your Aunt in such a tomboy manner — and me 
so sick, tew. Oh — Oh — Oh if Hezekiah were only 
here. 

Willoughby — Can I assist you, my dear lady? 

Aunt Jemima — If you'll be so kind, sir. 

(Willoughby helps her to gangway, where a waiter 
takes her in charge.) 

Tommy — Well I s'pose I hought to go and 'elp the 
Guvnor secure 'is night dress. Ha ! ha ! 'e 'as 'eaps 
of money and 'e 'ired me to take care of 'im, so I 
must be hoff. Upon my word hit's almost enough to 
make a man a socialist : this is. 'eres 'im as doesn't do. 
anythink in the world but cut a dash and he gets 
$10,000 a year for his trouble ; and 'eres me as does 
every bit as much — in fact I does more, for I dresses 
'im and myself too, and I only gets $300 for my job — 
but seein' hit's my bread hand butter there hain't no use 
fightin' with wot I 'as to heat — so I'm hoff. 

Willoughby — The die is cast, as Tragedian Snow 
would say. We've nlayed our cards right so far, and 
if the boys don't have enough sport in the next day 
or two to keep the diggins cheerful next winter my 
name's Dennis, and my reputation's gone. 

Captain — Don't be too hard on the boy, Dick. He 
needs a lesson bad, but remember his mother's telegram 
She asked to have him sent home "safe" at all hazards. 
I can enjoy a good, practical joke myself, but be care- 
ful — a mother's a mother all the world over. 

Willoughby — Trust me for that, Cap. It will be 
what we don't do that will scare the critter back. But 
when do you reckon to strike the Takoo on your way 
South? _ 

Captain — Let me see, with the load I have for Dyea 
and Chilcat I can't get here again for 36 hours. 

Willoughby — All right, Cap. 36 hours goes. We'll 
have been to Klondike and back by that time, see if we 
don't. When you reach here be on the lookout for the 
Spoopendike expedition and on no consideration leave 
the south shore of the Inlet without us. 

Captain — Never fear, man, and I'll see you're well 
paid for your trouble — but remember, Dick, don't be 
too hard. 

(Exit together) 

Scene IV. 

Isabel — (Discovered on deck with Theodore while 
the vessel is standing at wharf, a view of the gangway 

[ 186 ] 



being the most necessary feature.) Were you very sick, 
Dear ? 

Theodore — Sick — me sick — Did I not tell you, dawl- 
ing, that ah — I never get seasick. 

Isabel — Oh, how nice it is to be a man. 1 thought I 
should have died while the ship was rolling. 

Theodore — Well, dawling, you see it all depends on 
strong will power; I determined when I came on board 
that I would not be sick, don't you know — and — 

Tommy — (Entering in haste) Say, Guvnor, is this 
your diamond pin? 

Theodore — Yes, Tommy, Where did you get it? 

Tommy — Oh, I didn't get it at all. One of the waiters 
gave it me. 'e said 'e found it at the bucket you 
used w'en the rollin' was on, and so 'e thought it 
must be yours. 

Theodore — Tommy, will you go at once and prepare 
for landing. Procure the assistance of the guide, Mr. 
Willoughby, to take our outfit ashore. I will be at 
hand presently to superintend. 

Tommy — All right, Guv., but will I give the waiter 
something for finding the pin? 

Theodore — For goodness sake, Tommy, don't say 

another word about that pin In fact I am inclined 

to believe it is not mine — of course — how could it get 
into a bucket if it was? 

Tommy — But the bucket was in your cabin, Guv. 

Theodore — Unless you go and see about that outfit 
at once I shall become weal angry. 

Tommy — (Who does not see the vital ooint) Oh, 
all right, Guv., seein' hit's my bread hand butter. I'll 
keep the pin myself — a penny or two will stand the 
sailor hoff. 

(Exit) 

Theodore — Don't you know, Isabel, he is the most 
aggravating valet I have ever had. But I must put up 
with him for the next few weeks. 

Isabel — Oh, Theedv, how will I ever live without you? 
How long did you say you would be gone ? 

Theodore — Perhaps three whole weeks, dawliner. I 
must stay at least two weeks at the mines, you know. 

Isabel — (Collapsing in Theodore's arms at the 
thought). Oh, Theedy, I will surely die. 

Theodore — Bear up, dawling. You know I shall be 
thinking of you all the time. With every shovel full 
of gold that goes into the cash register I shall say 
"Thank heaven; here is one more shovelful nearer mv 
Izzy." 

[ 187 1 



Isabel — How nice ! But, Theedy, dear, will you prom- 
ise me one thing before we part? 

Theodore — I will promise you anything, dawling. 

Isabel — (Nestling into Theedy's arms). Will you 
pronrse — solemnly promise — for it will be my only 
comfort while you are away — that you will not put 
your arms around any girl till you come back to your 
own Izzy. 

Theodore — Why, dawling, bless you. Of course I 
will. Your face, and yours only, will be before me al- 
ways ; and as for putting - my arms around another girl 
/ would die first. 

Willoughby — (Passing by unobserved, says in an 
aside) We'll see about that. 

Theodore — And, dawling, to seal my vow — (drops on 
his knees dramatically, when his golfing trousers burst 
at one knee without him noticing) I kiss you like this. 

Isabel — How nice! (Embraces) 

(Just here Tommy enters covered with outfit consist- 
ing of gas stove, cradle, creepy chair, cash register, 
shovel, milk pans, etc., etc., and Theodore, taken by 
surprise, rises suddenly the result of which is that one 
leg of his knickerbocker trousers droos down in ludi- 
crous manner). 

Tommy — Say, Guv., I can't find the mattress for the 
cradle anywhere. 

Theodore — Never mind, we will buy a new one at 
Klondike. I see by the papers that all miners have 
"rockers" and money can procure anything, you know. 

Willoughby} — (Entering with scales) Excuse me, Mr. 
Spoopendike, but are these part of your outfit? 

Theodore — Why, yes, dcn't you know. The scales 
are an original idea of mine, to save time, don't you 
know. 

Willoughby — Indeed ! In what way, Mr. Spoopendike ? 

Theodore — Why, you see to weigh all the coarse gold 
that is too big to go into the cash register. 

Willoughby — That's so. Your ingenuity is marvelous. 

Isabel — How nice ! 

Theodore — Tommy, where is the large kettle ? I 
take great pride in that also, don't you know. It is 
another idea entirely of my own. 

Tommy — It's a comin', Guv. I gave the chap as found 
the pin the job of lugging up the kettle as a reward 
for 'is trouble. 

Willoughby — You say the kettle is an original idea, 
eh! In what connection, may I ask? 

Theodore — Well in case we run short of provisions, 

[ 188 ] 



don't you know, I thought we could use it to boil the 
gold into bullion (bouillon). 

Willoughby — What a capital idea. You ought to 
patent it, Mr. Spoopendike. Why, the idea is worth 
a Klondike in itself. You'll have the "dead cinch" on 
the boys at the diggins, sure, when provisions begin 
to grow scarce — as often happens. I thought at first 
you had brought it as a protection against the 'skeeters. 

Theodore — The what? 

Willoughby — Against mosquitoes. 

Theodore — A kettle as a protection against mosquitoes 
— I cannot see the utility — except — 

Tommy — He means to boil 'em to thicken the bullion, 
Guv. 

Theodore — Oh no ! he cawn't mean that. 

Willoughby — Of course not. But you are joking, 
Mr. Spoopendike. Have you never heard of the Klon- 
dike mosquitoes. Why they are such tartars, that it is 
as much as a man's life is worth to be among them. 
You'll be right glad you have a large kettle when you 
get there. 

Theodore — I'm pleased to hear you say so. But if 
you don't cook them, Mr. Willoughby, in what other 
way can the kettle be useful? 

Willoughby — As a sort of netting, man. You get 
underneath the kettle and let the mosquitoes sing. 

Theodore — Are they so thick as that? Weally what 
a providential thought it was to bring that kettle — of 
course one would be perfectly safe under a kettle i 

Willoughby — Yes ; but it is always wise to take a 
hammer in with you. 

Theodore — A hammer? 

Willoughby — Yes, a hammer. Even sheet iron is not 
thick enough to frighten off some of the old stagers, 
but with a good hammer to clinch their bills on the in- 
side you've got the bulge on them and a man's a fool 
as gets bitten after that. 

Theodore — Tommy, it's too bad I didn't bring a kettle 
for you too; but I'll raise your salary if they bite too 
hard 

But where are the trunks? Deah me, what a lot one 
has to think about on the way to Klondike. 

Tommy — Comin'. Sir, comin'. The Cap'n 'as har- 
ranged to 'ave 'em lowered on to the dock by steam. 
As it took four men to move 'em to the mouth of the 
'old. I'll go and 'urry 'im hup. 

(Exit) 
F 189 ] 



Willoughby — If you'll excuse me, Mr. Spoopendike, 
I'll get a rustle on to engage quarters for your outfit. 
You see Juneau is only a small town and roof room is 
scarce. And, come to think of it, wouldn't it be as 
well to wire ahead to Klondike that your expedition is 
coming. We had better not delay a moment — first 
come, you know, first served. 

Theodore — I never thought of telegraphing. Yes, it 
is an excellent suggestion. I see that you will be quite 
useful to me, Mr. Willoughby. Be so kind as to make 
all arrangements and then meet me at the chief hotel. 

(Exit Willoughby) 

And now, Isabel, the time has come for us to part 
(embraces her fondly). 

Isabel — Oh! My own Theedy (tears). (Trouser leg 
drops again). 

Theodore — Goodbye! (Arranges trouser leg). 

Isabel — Be sure and come back. 

Theodore — Yes, dawling. (Trousers still bothering). 

Isabel — You will be true? 

Theodore — Certainly. (Trousers again) 

(Steamer bell). 
Isabel — 
Theodore — 
Farewell! (Shaking handkerchiefs.) 

Curtain 



[ 190 ] 



ACT II— AMONG THE PHILISTINES. 
Scene I. 

(Entry of Dick Willoughby to "Slim Jim's" saloon, 
hailed with all manner of signs of welcome on his re- 
turn from the South. When the hubbub ceases, and 
faro and cards begin to amuse again, Dick comes for- 
ward and strikes up conversation with "Col." Snow ; 
while Slim Jim, the bartender, bobs back and forth 
with drinks which are all obtained from under the 
counter, as there is prohibition supposed to exist in 
Alaska.) 

Willoughby — Say, Colonel, are you in for a lark? 

Snow — A lark ! Did you ever know me buck at a 
lark, Deacon; that you insult me in that shape? Say, 
Slim, drinks for two. What's the lark Dick? Spit it 
out, like a good fellow. 

Slim Jim — What's it to be? 

Snow — Give me it straight. 

Willoughby — Me too. Comin' from the Sound I 
struck a "tenderfoot" named Spoopendike, whose 
mother don't know he's out and who's dad is anxious 
to git him home again. The critter ain't satisfied with 
his prospects as a millionaire's son, but is here with a 
valet — what do you think of that? — in order to show 
us common white trash miners how to do our own 
business. I've promised Cap. Rudlin I'll have the pink- 
toed beauty and all that belongs to it back safe and 
sound on his return passage. 

Snow — Wall, Deacon, a promise is a sacred thing. 
Here's to you. Slim (bizness with glasses). Do you 
think we can manage it? 

Slim Jim — I never knew the deacon make a mistake 
in sizing up his man yet. If the deacon said he'd have 
him back, the procession's over, becuz the outfit is 
already aboard. 

Willoughby — Now, Slim, let up on that. A little 
chaff goes a long way if the wind's in the right direc- 
tion. But, comin' back to bed rock, I've invited the 
chicken to your roost tonight and as he's always 
dressed for the occasion, I guess he'll be a formidable 
looking chap. He has the d — ndest notions about this 
country of any greeny I ever brushed against ; and 
like most howlin' swells he thinks a man in overalls is 
as cheap as his duds. 

[ 191 ] 



Snow — Well, by the jumpin' Jerusalem, if we don't 
send him back to his ma with an ex-ray photograph 
of himself this time tomorrow, it will be because he 
couldn't stand the strain. 

Slim Jim — What's the programme, Dick? I'll do my 
song and dance if you like, just to give the reglars a 
little diversion. 

Willoughby — I've thought the matter over, and to 
get something rich and juicy let's put him through a 
"yarn racket" first. It's my policy to be mild, myself. I 
am his "guide and interpreter, don't you know," and 
when he is quite satisfied with me his hours are num- 
bered. But you people pull his leg for all it's worth. 
Don't stick at a yarn because it's been told before, for 
he's of a conservative blue-blooded strain — anything old 
is his hobby. He even likes the geography of his early 
years "because, like wine, don't you know, it has the 
advantage of age." 

(Laughter.) 

Slim Jim — And after the yarns how would it do to 
put him through a step dance or something — I have a 
persuasive argument here ha! ha! (holds up his six- 
shooter.) 

Willoughby — I've thought of that. I've told him 
there was going to be a grand ball here tonight. His 
sweetheart was aboard — a wishy-washy, senseless thing 
like himself — and I caught him swearing like a house 
on fire that he would die rather than put his arms 
around any other girl — 

Snow — Ha ! ha ! Leave that part of the seance to 
me. Slim, old man, I'll get "The Princess" loaded for 
b'ar and you do the blufifin' act. Ha ! ha ! Gemines, 
wont we have some sport? 

Willoughby — If it tain't too late when we get through 
dancin', I've scratched out a plan to go snipe shoot- 
in' (hearty laughter, as "snipe-shooting" is the 
initiation miners give to all "tenderfeet"). Holy smoke! 
here he comes, togged out like a Texas cowboy. That's 
the valet behind him. The little 'un is the makin' of a 
trump card — but it won't do to let him know too much. 
(Enter Theodore and Tommy.) 

Theodore — By the bye, Mr. Bartender (with 
hauteur), are you acquainted with a gentleman named 
Willoughby — Mr. Richard Willoughby, don't you know? 

Willoughby — (coming forward) Ah, Mr. Spoopen- 
dike, so happy to meet you again. What will you have? 

Theodore — (not pleased with tough appearance of 

[ 192 ] 



"To sup up the blood, you chump." See page 193 



saloon inmates whom he has surveyed somewhat 
furtively) I nevah indulge — except in the company of — 
ah — at the club, don't you know. 

Slim Jim — Perhaps he would like "a glawss of 
mil-le-k and a straw, don't you know." 

(Laughter.) 

Theodore — Beg pawdon, but I'd rather not, don't you 
know. 

(Renewed laughter) and Theodore first seeing that 
perhaps they are laughing at him rejoins: 

My valet may join you at my expense, if he so desires. 

Tommy — (At once jumping at the opportunity) 
Seein' hit's my bread hand butter, I never likes to fight 
with wot I got to heat. Make it 'alf 'n 'alf, Landlord. 

Slim Jim — (After serving Tommy) Say, stranger, 
you have a killin' outfit thar. All you need now is a 
spoon. 

Theodore — A spoon? Why, ah — what do I need a 
spoon for, pray, if I may make bold to awsk? 

Slim Jim — To sup up the blood, you chump. 
(Manifest amusement.) 

Willoughby — (coming to rescue) My partner, Col. 
Snow, the tragedian, Mr. Spoopendike. Mr. Spoopen- 
dike, Col. Snow. 

Theodore — Ah, indeed, a twagedian — how very enter- 
taining. I do take great delight in conversing with 
you — ah — pwofessional people, don't you know. You 
are so realistic at times, don't you know. It is weally 
astonishing to me how you find out the way we higher 
classes live. 

Snow — (mimicing) Well, I declare — ah — it is so 
polite — ah — for a person of your culture — ah — to say 
so, don't you know. 

(Laughter.) 

Theodore — (who never knows when he is being 
laughed at) Not at all — but are you heah for your 
health? 

Snow — For my health — come to Alaska for my health? 
(laughs immoderately) Ha! ha! ha! 

Slim Jim — We don't have any loafers here, stranger. 
Everyone has to work around a diggins. The Colonel 
here acts in winter and prosp-acfa in summer. Eh ! 
Deacon. 

Willoughy — (soberly) Mr. Spoopendike has allowed 
me the pleasure and protection of his camp while on 
the way to Klondike, and in order to get there in good 
time we start from here at four o'clock tomorrow 
morning. 

[ 193 ] 



Theodore — (to whom this is new) Oh weally, Mr. 
Willoughby, couldn't we make it later than that? You 
see I usually breakfast at nine. 

Snow — Why, Mr. Spoopendike, if you wait till nine 
it will be moonlight. 

Theodore — Moonlight ? 

Snow — Why yes, did you never hear that this was 
the land of the midnight sun? 

Theodore — Aw, come to think of it now, I do recall 
that name, but the reason they called it that never oc- 
curred to me before. Of course if they have sun at 
nighttime it stands to reason the moon must shine by 
day. 

Snow — Certainly. 
(Winks and laughter.) 

Theodore — Tommy have my shoes polished and my 
hunting apparel ready for 4 o'clock in the morning. 

Tommy — All right, Guv. But, say, I thought as 'ow 
you wuz agoin' snipe shootin' tomorrow ? 

Willoughby — (breaking in to smother laughter of 
"the boys") No, it is tonight that Mr. Spoopendike is 
goin' to try his luck with the snipes. 

Theodore — Weally, Mr. Willoughby, but I fear the 
fatigue of the ball will unfit me for the pleasure you 
mention. I only intend to engage in a square dance or 
two ; but even they are tiresome, don't you know. Any- 
wa-" won't it be too dark? 

Willoughby — We always go snipe shooting at night ; 
and as Juneau is the only snipe shooting ground ; and 
as tomorrow night we will be on our way to Klondike; 
and as gentlemen of your culture are always good 
sportsmen — why — 

Theodore — Yes, as you say, it is rare sport and it 
will be too bad to miss it. But we can tell better after 
the ball is over. 

Snow — (Sings (and dances) the line) "After the ball 
is over." 

(Laughter.) 

Tommy — Did you take part in many hengagements 
wile you wuz a soldier? 

Snow — A soldier — who said I was a soldier, Shorty? 

Tommy — W'y; hain't you called Colonel? 

Snow — Yes, but that don't cut any figger. It's easy 
seein' you haven't been long in America, young 'un. /\ 
Colonel don't have to be a fightin' man in this country. 
They called me colonel because I was a lawyer before 
I left the South. 

[ 194 ] 






Tommy — A lawyer, and wot's a colonel got to do 
with that? 

Snow — Not much till you trace the connection. 
Since the war there has been so many impossible stories 
told of the brave deeds done during the war and the 
people who told the stories having always assumed to 
be colonels, the term colonel now applies to all first- 
class liars indiscriminately. That's the reason why I 
left the profession. By the way, Deacon, they've been 
having some juice up the coast since you were away. 

Willoughby — Wet, eh ! 

Snow — Several men drowned going through the 
canyon to the Klondike. They hadn't seen the sun for 
two weeks when I left the pass. 

Tommy — So they 'ave fogs at Klondike too, do 
they? 

Snow — Fogs. No it wasn't fogs either, youngster, it 
was two weeks of rain — the pure, genuine article. 

Slim Jim — You don't call that wet do you pard? I've 
seen a whole summer go by without even smelling the 
sun. 

Willoughby — That's as bad as the story the mission- 
ary told. 

Slim Jim — Missionary ! What's that ? 

Theodore — How dreadful, (holds up his hands in 
amazement) Don't you know what a missionary is. 

Snow — Why, Slim, don't you know what a sky pilot 
is yet. The deacon here was one when he first came 
among us. 

Slim Jim — Oh, one of them mollycoddles as comes 
here occasionally to tell us we're all going to hell and 
then takes up a collection to defray the expenses. Oh 
yes, I know them chaps ! 

Willoughby — Well the missionary came to Juneau to 
convert the heathen. He got the Siwashes together — 

Tommy — Wot's Siwashes, boss ? 

Willoughby — Indians — Indians, man. Chinook for 
Indians, As I said, he got the Siwashes together and, 
like Mr. Spoopendike's valet here, he didn't know how 
to chin Chinook. So getting hold of a Siwash that 
knew the lingo he proceeded to tell the story of Noah 
and the flood. But he hadn't got far before the in- 
terpreter went on strike and told the missionary that, 
having a good reputation among the warriors, he would 
not put it in jeopardy by telling such a yarn. 

Theodore — Dean me ! think of the savage. 

Willoughby — Oh, the savage didn't mind. It was 

[ 195 ] 



the missionary was. in a hole. However by the judicious 
display of a gaudy colored blanket here and there, he 
soon found another interpreter, but as the story pro- 
gressed one buck after another snorted in a con- 
temptuous manner and turning up his nose left the 
gathering. One old man only was left when the story 
ended and the missionary, surprised beyond measure, de- 
manded the cause of the wholesale desertion. "De- 
sertion?" said the old Siwash, "They let you down 
easy, tillicum. I'd a gone too only my leg is paralyzed." 
But why would you go? demanded the preacher. "Go, 
why 'cause that story ain't true. See here, stranger, I've 
seen it rain forty days and forty nights right here in 
Juneau and the bay never rose an inch." 

Theodore — But surely the ah — Siwash do you call it? 

Willoughby — Yes. 

Theodore — Surely he was prevaricating, was he not? 

Slim Jim — I don't know what prevaricating means, 
stranger, but I tell you that rain story don't cut any 
figger when it comes to describing the whiskers, on 
Jack Frost. 

Theodore — The what, ah I — 

Slim Jim — The cold, you gum head. Don't you 
understand your mother tongue yet? 

Theodore — Beg pawdon, but — 

Snow — (interrupting) That's what's the matter Slim. 
Some of those tenderfeet are going to have their toes 
nipped before they get to Klondike. Down South, 
where I come from, it's so warm in summer that you 
have to feed the chickens on ice to keep them from 
laying hard boiled eggs. But when they manage to 
get chickens in at the Klondike they have to feed them 
on live coals to keep them from laying icicles. 

Willoughby — I believe you, Colonel. In fact it's my 
candid opinion — I may be wrong — but it's my candid 
opinion there ain't one of them outside my friend, Mr. 
Spoopendike, here will ever see the Klondike. 

Slim Jim — Well I should snicker. Say Mr. Spoopen- 
dike, do you like fish. 

Theodore — (who wishes to put an end to such 
familiarity on the part of a mere barman, says with 
hauteur) I cawn't say that I am particularly fond of 
that article — why? 

Slim Jim — (growing communicative) If you don't like 
fish, you better not go into the interior. 

Theodore — Oh, but I must go. You see I-ah-said I 
would, you know. What has fish to do with it anyway? 

[ 196 ] 



Slim Jim — It has all to do with it. You won't have 
another bite to eat for months at a time. Everything 
else freezes harder than bedrock. Why my pard and I 
got caught in the gold fields last year and we had to 
winter on the Yukon. Talk about freezo tillicum, thar's 
where you get the gilt edge variety. We knocked up a 
cabin on the banks of the river but it was so cold the 
cabin was cultus, and we had to take turns. — Bill and 
me — to shovel our frozen breath out of the shack. 

Theodore — Excuse me, sir, but — ah — you used some 
strange expressions while you were speaking, don't 
you know. I have noted some of them as I desire to 
acquire the language of these parts. Here they are — 
telly — tillykum and kultus — 

W'illoughby — Entirely my fault, Mr. Spoopendike. 
"Tillicum" means friend and "cultus" means worthless. 
\\ hen a cabin is cultus, Slim means it was no use. 
These are Chinook words which I have undertaken, as 
you remember, to interpret for you. Go on, Slim, what 
did you have to eat. (Aside to Theodore) I will try 
and explain his words as he goes along. 

Slim Jim — Wall, I might say that before the winter 
had really set in — when the ice was only about ten feet 
thick — Bill — Buckskin Bill — that was my backlog — 

Theodore — Backlog ! What's that ? Is that Chinook 
too? 

Willoughby — No that's English, that means bedfellow. 

Slim Jim — Bill and I dug a hole in the ice as. I said 
before, and by the aid of a net caught enough fish in 
a few hours to last us for the winter. 

Tommy — Say, Landlord, that's hall guff you're a giv- 
ing of us. Didn't the fish freeze too? 

Slim Jim — Who said they didn't, Smarty? The 
moment we hauled them out they were as stiff as pokers. 
We left them at the ice hole in a pile just as we caught 
them and came for a fish each meal according as we 
wanted one. But if it hadn't been for those same 
"pokers" we'd a died of scurvy. They were the only 
fresh meat we had all winter. 

Theodore — But towards the lawst the fish you speak 
of would'nt be any too fresh either? 

Slim Jim — Not fresh. It must be painful to be green 
as you are. Why, stranger, those fish were fresher in 
the fry pan than they were the day we hauled them out. 
Would you believe it, Deacon, we had to hit every 
blamed finny on the head with a pick to keep it from 



[ 197 1 



splashing the gravy all over the cabin while it was be- 
ing thawed back to life. 

Tommy— Wot time does the winter break hup at 
Klondike, Boss? 

Slim Jim— Oh, sometime in July. But that reminds 
me, Colonel, of your chicken story. I can't say I've 
come through anything like the live coal experience but 
1 „ c ? n ,. c ° me P rett y darn near it. Two vears ago— 
Whistlm Ben— You remember Ben, don't yer? 
Snow— The squinty eyed chap? 

Slim Jim— No, no! the fellow with the impedyment— 
the frog in his throat. Don't you remember, he used 
to whistle when he couldn't get the word? 
Snow — Oh yes, yes of course I do. 
Slim Jim— Well Whistlin' Ben packed a bunch of 
chickens into the country, thinkin' to raise poultry as a 
bizness. He hadn't been thar long, howsomever, be- 
fore they began to dwindle away. 

Theodore— Poor things, the cold weather was too 
much for them. Eh ! 

Slim Jim— Wrong again. Grub was so scarce, "the 
boys" had to buy him out. They bought all but the 
rooster it turned out; but as it come along toward 
winter, Ben decided to keep him for a Christmas dinner. 
It was hard work but he managed to save the bird's 
neck by keeping it tied up under his bed. 
Theodore— Afraid of thieves, I suppose? 
Slim Jim— Naw. It was the frost this time. The 
day before Christmas he untied the string to get the 
fowl ready for the pot when it got out of the cabin 
and away^ from him. Well, you should have seen the 
scramble in camp when they heard about it. It hap- 
pened I was one of the invited guests for the next day's 
dinner, and under the circumstances I joined in the 
search. Finally we tracked the critter through the snow 
to a high hill in the neighborhood, and as we came 
near he was standing on tiptoes flapping his wings, and 
to look at him one would have thought he wuz crowin' 
to beat the band. 
Snow— -And wasn't he? 

Slim Jim — No, Colonel, I declare it was funny! but 
we couldn't hear a sound. However we were glad we 
had tracked the beauty — crow or no crow — and to 
make sure we wouldn't lose him again I blazed away, 
and Ben soon had him ready for the feast 
^ Tommy— But wot 'as all that got to do with July 
I'd like to know. 

[ 198 ] 



Slim Jim — I'm comin' to that. On the 4th of July 
all the Americans in camp got together to give Uncle 
Sam a good send off. We made a bon-fire ; fired off a 
"few de joy;" sang Yankee doodle and painted the 
camp red generally. Of course we had to have an 
oration. A glorious Fourth ain't anything without an 
oration. So we got the best talker among us to get a 
good old Bunker Hill explosion ready and when it 
came time we raised him up on the highest ground in 
the vicinity; and, just when the sun was doin' its 
prettiest and the tickers were pointin' to high noon, 
we set the orator goin'. Then came the curious part 
of the performance. He had no sooner opened his 
mouth than, shrill and clear, above everything, we heard 
a loud "cook a doodle do — cook a doodle do (flapping 
his arms like wings) and it kept a-goin' till at last 
the orator had to sit down. 

Snow — Strange phenomenon that. How did you ac- 
count for it, Slim? 

Slim Jim — Simple as rollin' off a log. Turned out 
the platform stood on the very hill where we had 
choked the cock the Christmas before. He had been 
crowin' all rght when we caught him, but it wuz so 
cold that even the sound wuz frozen and fell to the 
around without bein' heard. The theory wuz plain 
enough, but the funny part wuz that it should wait till 
the 4th of July oration before it began to thaw out. 

Willoughby — Well that was rather a coincidence, 
wasn't it? What do you think of that, youngster? 

Tommy — Hoh ! that hain't nothing. I've hoften 
'eared the American eagle crow. 

Snow — Egad it's a good thing little Johnny Bull 
wasn't there. If he had, people would have been in- 
clined to say the whole thing was a Cock and Bull 
story eh ! 

Theodore — Deah me, if the weather is so frightfully 
cold, how do you manage for fuel? 

Snow — Wood — they burn wood you see — and it takes 
more than an armful to do it, too. 

Theodore — Do you have much trouble finding timber? 

Snow — Not by a jugful; the trouble comes in cutting 
it down. Are you a good hand with an axe? 

Theodore — Nevah had one in my hand. 

Snow — Whew ! Then you'll wish you hadn't come, 
I'll swar. You've heard of the Big Trees of California 
haven't you? 

Tommy — Oh, yes, I 'ave. They makes wine out of 

[ 199] 



'em don't they? I've seed 'em in hadvertisements. 
They calls hit pig Tree Blend. 

Snow — I guess they must if you say so — eh boys, ha ! 
ha ! But the big trees of California don't cut a figure 
beside those of the Klondike. 

Theodore — My ! My ! 

Snow — Why I went out one morning to do a little 
chopping for a cold day and I found a tree that seemed 
to suit me exactly. I started in at once and kept at it 
till I got hungry. While I was eating lunch, I heard 
a tapping and a tapping that sounded for all the world 
like a wood pecker; and yet it grew too loud for a 
wood pecker. My curiosity was roused and after I had 
eaten my dinner I went to explore. And what do you 
suppose I found, Mr. Spoopendike? 

Theodore — I couldn't say, I'm sure. 

Snow — Why I found another man chopping at the 
same tree and he'd been there longer than I had been. 

Theodore — What an enormous tree ! Are you sure 
it was the very same tree? 

Slim Jim — Colonel, do you know I had clean forgot 
all about that incident. You remember it wuz me wuz 
the other fellow. 

Snow — Shake, ole man, so it was. Let's have another 
drink on the strength of it. 

Willoughby — Talking about wood, Colonel ! What's 
the matter with that ditty you used to sing us at the 
show. I'm sure our distinguished friend will be pleased 
to hear it. 

Slim Jim — Yes that 'un about the wood pile. Sing it 
Snow — we'll all be quiet as kittens. It's so durn life like 
that I have the shivers everytime I hear it. Sing it 
like a good fellow. 

Snow — All right, Slim. Pass us over something to 
wet my whistle. I ain't particular about a tuning fork 
but a tuning glass is indispensable. 
(Takes drink.) 

THE SONG OF A WOOD-PILE. 

I wintered one season at Juneau 
Where the weather is awfully chill ; 

And the wind it blew fierce through the window 
With a fury that boded me ill : 

I had to my name scarce a dollar — 

[ 200 ] 



I lived a la poverty style; 
And the one friend I had in my squalor 
Was a rousing, substantial wood-pile. 

But I sighed as I looked on that wood-pile 

As I gazed on it day after day ; 
Yes, I sighed as I looked on that wood-pile 
And saw that it dwindled away. 

When the Winter first came with its blizzards, 

Says I to myself with a smile : 
"If all of my other friends fail me 

"I'll still have that rousing wood-pile." 
I strutted about in my gladness, 

And naught could diminish my glee ; 
Thinks I "Who could languish in sadness, 
And have such a wood-pile to see?" 

But I sighed as I looked on that wood-pile, 

As I gazed on it, day after day ; 
Yes, I sighed as I looked on that wood-pile, 
And saw that it dwindled away. 

It seemed cold as icebergs for ages ; 
The Winter was long and severe; 
So I kept piling wood in my heater, 

Regardless that wood-piles were dear. 
The weather was just at its coldest, 

When lo ! I was horribly pained 
To find, though I'm one of the boldest, 
No stick of my wood-pile remained. 

So I sighed as I looked for that wood-pile 

I sighed, as I gazed in dismay; 
So I sighed as I looked for that wood-pile 
When the wood-pile had dwindled away. 



[ 201 ] 



And now, friends, I'll tell you the moral — 

The moral of this little lay : 
And you'll hear what is taught by a wood-pile — 

A wood-pile that dwindles away. 
When the Winter ne'er seems to be going, 

But the wood goes in spite of your sigh ; 
While the snow and the wind keeps a-blowing — 
Get another big wood-pile or die. 

For to sigh as you gaze on a wood-pile, 

To sigh, as you gaze in dismay ; 
For to sigh as you gaze on a wood-pile 
Don't keep it from dwindling away. 

(Applause.) 

Snow — (after another drink) Say, Mr. Spoopendike, 
don't you sing? 

Theodore — Me sing? How is it people get the idea 
into their heads that I sing? Not that there is any- 
thing particularly wrong with music — classical music — 
don't you know — so long as it is in its place. But to 
class me on a level with people who make a living by 
means of it is very annoying, don't you know. No I 
do not sing, most decidedly. My valet may perhaps 
favor you, but as for me the request is a positive insult. 

Snow — I beg your pardon, Mr. Spoopendike. No 
offense I assure you. It was the length of your ears 
made me think that perhaps you might be able to bray 
a little. But I wouldn't hurt your feelings for the 
world. Slim give the little un another "'alf 'n 'alf." 
Now, Tommy, what say you to a song? 

Tommy — Hall right, boss. Seein' hit's my bread hand 
butter. I never likes to fight with wot I 'as to heat : 

(Takes a drink and sings:) 

HE COULDN'T SIT DOWN. 

One day I determined to go for a ride, — 

Though 'twas long since I'd mounted a horse, — 

And felt so indignant, it injured my pride, 
When told I'd be sorry — or worse. 

I grew quite impatient at every delay, 
While waiting to straddle "the brown," 

[ 202 ] 



And until the hostler was well on the way, 
I couldn't be made to sit down. 

I couldn't sit down, I couldn't sit down, 

No, I really couldn't sit down ; 
You may laugh if you please, 
You may titter and tease — 

But I really couldn't sit down. 

As soon as my steed was in trim for the road, 

I strove to get onto his back; 
But though I quite loudly and earnestly "whoaed" 

He wouldn't stand still in his track. 
Undaunted I smiled at the gathering throng, 

To show them I was not a clown ; 
But with one stirrup short and the other one long — 
I really couldn't sit down. 

I couldn't sit down, I couldn't sit down, 

No, I really couldn't sit down ; 
You may laugh if you please, 
You may titter and tease — 

But I really couldn't sit down. 

In time I was able to manage the beast, 

And flew from the place like a shot; 
Says I to myself "Now I'm in for a feast" 

And one I'll remember, I wot." 
I tried to ride easy and practised the lope ; 

But 'twould make e'en a Methodist frown, 
That horse and that saddle so jolted me up, 
That I didn't know how to sit down. 

I couldn't sit down, I couldn't sit down, 

No, I really couldn't sit down ; 
You may laugh if you please, 
You may titter and tease — 

But I really couldn't sit down. 



[ 203 ] 



At last when I thought I would surely succumb, 

And my body seemed limp as a rag, 
I once more got back to the "pleasures of home" 

And off from that dastardly nag. 
But my troubles alas did not end with the ride, 

And I soon was the laugh of the town, 
For no matter how tenderly, careful I tried — 
For a fortnight I could not sit down. 

I couldn't sit down, I couldn't sit down, 

No, I really couldn't sit down ; 
You may laugh if you please, 
You may titter and tease — 

But I really couldn't sit down. 

Snow — Bravo ! Young un ; if you stay in the country 
hang me if I don't set you up as a star in the Snow 
dramatic troupe. 

Slim Jim — That's right, Colonel. You alius know 
when you strike oil. I'm blamed if you don't. 

Theodore — Excuse me, but what do you mean by the 
expression "strike oil?" 

Snow — You don't mean to say you've never been to 
Pennsylvania? Mr. Spoopendike. 

Theodore — I cawn't say that I have. 

Slim Jim — Hain't you been nozvhere? 

Theodore — Yes, I've been to Chicago — but what's that 
got to do with "striking oil?" 

Slim Jim — Explain the thing to him, Colonel, I 
hain't time. 

Snow — Why, Mr. Spoopendike, the term is of a tech- 
nical nature, and like a good many other technical terms 
it's sort of upside down. As a matter of fact when you 
come to the oil, it's ten to one that the oil strikes you 
before you have a chance to get in fighting position. 
When I was in the oil region they were talking about a 
fellow who struck oil on his claim when he had nigh 
given up hope. You see he had been boring for months 
without success when at last his efforts were rewarded. 
Yes — though he'd been getting ready for it for a whole 
summer, yet, when it did come, he wasn't ready, and, by 
George, before he could turn to grab his oil coat he 
was up 200 feet in air dancing around on the top of 
the stream for all the world like a jumping jack. 

[ 204] 



Theodore — Deah, deah, and did they save his life? 

Snow — Saved it, yes; he was up there for three days 
in all ; but they got him all O.K. 

Tommy — He lived on hoil I suppose w'en 'e got 
'ungry ? 

Snow — No that was the funny part of it. He never 
missed a meal all the time he was there. They just put 
some ham and eggs, or whatever he liked, on a plate 
and shoved it into the stream and up she went to him 
like a dumb waiter. 

Tommy — Well, boss, you beats the French. Shake, 
old man, I'm somewhat of a lawyer myself. 

Theodore — And I suppose the poor fellow would 
have to eat it, oil and all. It was enough to give him 
dyspepsia, don't you know. 

Slim Jim — A man that does any roughing gets used 
to some pretty tough muckamuck nowadays. Say, 
Snow, tell him about one-legged Jack. 

Willoughby — No don't, it's too horrible. 

Slim Jim — But if it's true? 

Willoughby — It's the very truth of it makes my hair 
stand on end. (Wink.) 

Slim Jim — Well, I say Dick, we all know you are a 
soft hearted sort of chap. Try your luck at the faro 
board while the Colonel's telling about it. 

Snow — No, you tell it yourself, Slim. I'll swear to it 
being the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the 
truth, so help me Gemines — but you can tell it better 
than I can. 

Slim Jim — Wall, like all true stories thar ain't much 
of it. A few years ago a tenderfoot came to camp and 
outfitted for the Yukon. He started in alone and came 
back next season with one of his feet gone. It seems 
when he got into the interior he ran short of grub. 
He came near starving to death and at last decided 
he'd have to do something. So he sot down and thought 
out which limb he could easiest do without. After 
deliberating for some time he chose the right foot and 
taking his sheath knife cut it off and lived on it till 
help came. 

Theodore — Mercy ! What a terrible ordeal. 

Tommy — I'd a chose the left foot if he'd axed me. 

Slim Jim — Wall it did go a little agin' the grain to 
take the right foot, but you see that was the one on 
which the com grew. 

Theodore — Well, I do hope weally that nothing like 



[ 205 ] 



that will happen to me. But I understood there was 
lots of game in the country, don't you know. 

Snow — Yes, there is some game too. If there ain't 
we make it when there are tenderfeet around, eh! Slim? 
Say, by the way, Slim, did you ever see Siwashes eat 
deer meat? 

Slim Jim — Yaas, let's see, the last time I took notice 
was a year ago at Devil's Gulch. There hadn't been 
any deer seen for a month when suddenly a fat buck 
was packed into camp. Well say, didn't they have 
a potlach ! it was worth a day's pickin' to see the 
Siwashes pile into that deer, kicking and groaning 
though it was. 

Theodore — Did they succeed in killing it? 

Slim Jim — Naw ! they didn't want it dead. You see, 
stranger, a savage is like a white man, he likes his meat 
served warm. As I wuz saying I never saw a bigger 
scramble. The Klootches were the worst. 

Willoughby — (aside to Theodore) Klootch means 
Indian woman. 

Slim Jim — They ain't stuck on forks nohow ; and not 
havin' any handy they took the finger method. One 
would snatch a handful of the meat and if it wuz too 
large a Siwash and Klootch would take sides of it in 
their teeth this way (bizzness) and then the buck, who 
always carries a knife, would jerk the blade upward 
this fashion, (bizzness) and that's how most of the 
carcase was cleaned off. 

Theodore — Deah, oh deah ! how very dreadful. 

Snow — Yes, it is fun I can tell you ! That's how 
most of the Klootches of the country have the fleshy part 
of their noses gone. The Siwashes are so greedy that 
they glance the edge of the knife out towards the 
Klootch and, as it comes up with the jerk Slim men- 
tioned, the Klootch's nose is off before she ever smells 
the knife. 

Theodore — Surely, that cawn't be so? 

Snow — I'll leave it to Slim. 

Slim Jim — That's right, stranger. I'll back up every- 
thing the tragedian says. I've seen some pretty "white" 
men in my time, but in all my travels I never saw one 
that was "whiter than Snow." 

Theodore — But do you mean to say they eat the raw 
meat ? 

Willoughby — Why, my dear Mr. Spoopendike, did 
you never hear that before? The Indians of the coun- 
try are worse than cannibals. When I was off to the 

[ 206 ] 



Westward prospecting for coal some years ago, I went 
into Oonalaska to provision my launch. 

Snow — (breaking in) Sling us over that box, Slim. 
Excuse me, Deacon, but I thought I'd like to smoke 
while you were telling that yarn. 

Willoughby — I don't mind having a puff or two my- 
self, seein' you're so pressin'. Thankee, Slim (lights a 
cigar). Well, as I was sayin', Mr. Spoopendike (puff), 
we went ashore at Oonalaska and I noticed a seedy sort 
of smell. I enquired what it was and the authorities 
pointed me to a whale's carcase that had floated ashore. 
They were overjoyed at my timely appearance (puff) 
and offered to pay me handsomely if I would tow the 
carcase to sea as it would take so long to get rid of the 
nuisance any other way. I agreed and after — (taking 
a long puff) after attaching a hawser and harpoon to 
the whale I started out. My launch was a light one, 
and it took considerable time to get under way. When 
I was away from shore — well let me see — oh I calcu- 
late about half a mile, I heard a subdued sort of noise 
coming from the carcase. I listened and the mate 
listened and we both listened and bein' satisfied there 
was something wrong (puff) I hauled the carcase back 
ashore (puff). Well to make a long story short, what 
do you suppose it was? 

Tommy — Jonah, wasn't it? 

Willoughby — Jonah ! naw. I declare if it wasn't an 
Indian and his family so preoccupied inside eating 
blubber that they didn't notice the tackle being attached 
and come nearly being drowned in consequence. 

Theodore — Oh, how beastly and do the people live on 
putrified whales at the Klondike? 

Slim Jim — Live on whales? I guess not. They don't 
have such luck. That's what we miners call "strikin' it 
rich." One season I was there the Siwashes packed a 
supply of blubber into the diggins. It was divided up 
evenly a pound of gold for a pound of blubber until it 
was all gone. Next day a mossback — 

Tommy — Mossback! Wot's that? 

Willoughby — That means old timer — a man like Slim 
Jim. 

Tommv — Oh, a man as tells w'oppers ? 

Slim Jim — Next day a Mossback, as hadn't had gold 
enough to buy any, struck pay dirt on his claim and 
offered even the odds in gold for a morsel of blubber. 
But he wasn't in it. That night it was reported that a 
piece of blubber had been stolen and as things looked 

[ 207 ] 



mighty suspicious we immediately strung up the Moss- 
back, who had tried to buy it, as a warning to others. 
Snow— That was your old tillicum, Buckskin Billy, 
wasn't it? 

Slim Jim — Yes, as white a chap as ever made a riffle 
or broke a bank. 

Snow— They found out after that he wasn't the man 
didn't they? 

Slim Jim — Yes — turned out the dogs had chewed it. 
Theodore— What did they do then? 
Slim Jim— Do then! What d'ye s'pose any camp of 
self-respectin' miners would do? They strung up the 
tenderfoot who had seen the dogs eat the meat for 
not havin' come sooner to tell about it. 
Theodore — How shocking ! 

Slim Jim— But say, youngster, talkin' about Jonah, 
you seem to know somethin' about him? 

Tommy— No more than that he swallowed a whale 
and spit it out three days after on dry land. 

Theodore — Tompkins, you surprise me. I know you 
have not a college education and are not expected to 
know a great deal, but still to find you so ignorant in a 
matter of that kind is— ah— pitiful to say the least. If 
I remember rightly, it was the whale did the — ah — 
swallowing. 

Tommy— -Yes, Guv., I knows that but I hkes^ to adapt 
myself to the company I'm in; see! I hain't been a 
whole day in Alaska without finding out it's bad 
hetiquette to be too pertickler about such stories. 
Theodore— Why young man, are you a heathen? 
Tommy — Dunno. 

Theodore—Yon don't know what religion you are? 
Tommy — Not till I'm married. 
Theodore— What has that to do with it? 
Tommy— Well don't yer see I'm going to be the same 
religion as my wife to havoid trouble. 

Theodore— (showing his authority) I fail to under- 
stand you, Tommy, and in future— ahem— I wish you to 
be more accurate as to matters of religious importance. 
Strange to say I — a person of college education — have 
arrived at an altogether different conclusion. In fact 
the terrible struggles which those men assure us they 
have had to come through and the alarming death rate 
they depict have convinced me that religion after all 
may stand us in good stead before we get to Klondike. 
Slim Jim— That's just what I was goin' to say, 
stranger. By the way, have you heard the latest theory 

[ 208 ] 




Theedy waltzing with Starlitz under pressure. Seep. 214 



on the Jonah question. They teach theory at Harvard 
don't they? 

Theodore — I cawn't say weally. You see I went to 
a private college. My mother thought Harvard was too 
common, don't you know. 

Snow — What is the Jonah theory, Slim? 

Slim Jim — Oh nuthin' much. They've found out 
tobacco had a good deal to do with it. When Jonah 
got "taken in" he found himself in rather close quar- 
ters. He was too scared to do much the first day; 
but finding on the next day that things wuz growin' 
monotonous, he got to thinkin'. Bein' a smoking man 
it occurred to him suddenly that he had a twist of 
French Canadian tobacco in his breeches pocket. You 
know how strong Canadian tobacco is, don't you? 

Snozv — Rather. 

Slim Jim — Wall, he took out the twist, broke up a 
pipe full and finding a match that wasn't wet, he struck 
it on one of the whale's spare ribs and was soon havin' 
a comfortable smoke. 

Snozv — Is that all? 

Slim Jim — Why, no George. That's just the begin- 
ning. The whale was a skookum — 

Willoughby — Skookum means strong. 

Slim Jim — Chap that could stand anything. Jonah 
wasn't the first man he had made smoke. But, Gemine 
Christmas, Jonah was the first who had used the Cana- 
dian brand. The monster rolled around uncomfortable 
like for awhile like a seasick tenderfoot and then made 
for the nearest land. It was worse than eating green 
apples. Even the whale couldn't stomach it and Jonah 
found himself cast ashore, just as history relates, before 
he had half finished the twist. 

Snozv — Can that story be proved? 

Slim Jim — Of course it can. That's what the boys 
all mean when they say "Holy smoke." 

(Breathing space — uproar at faro table. Tommy 
happy with his 'alf in 'alf, which is continually being 
replenished. Dick and Snow in lounging positions. 
Slim serves drinks at card table and then saunters back 
as Theodore grows restless and asks) 

Theodore — But I heard there were lots of bears at the 
Klondike? 

Slim Jim — Bears — yes the woods are full of them. 
But you can't git near them till they're hungry, and 
then it ain't safe. 



[ 209 ] 



Snow — If you keep a lire agoin' in camp, you're 
all right. But once your light goes out — 

Theodore — And then what happens? 

Snow— (with a grin) Well I wouldn't advise any- 
one to stop to see. 

Slim Jim — Oh, if a man has plenty of nerve he can 
manage a bear all right. George, (addressing Snow 
seriously) I knew of a man once, that was caught nap- 
pin' by a grizzly but before the monster had a chance 
to get in his funny work the chap — who had an extra 
long arm— thrust it down the critter's throat and grab- 
bin' his tail sudden like, turned the brute inside out and 
got away. 

Tommy— Say, Guv., I've heared that story in London, 
so I knows it's a w'opper. 

Snow — (winking at Slim) Well Slim, I'm down- 
right glad to hear you tell that experience. Mr. 
Spoopendike's valet ain't lyin' for I've heard it before 
myself, but never believed it oossible till now. In fact, 
I knew a gentleman, somehow Mr. Spoopendike here 
reminds me of him, who actually tried the dodge, but 
found too late that his arm wasn't long enough. 

Slim Jim — Perhaps it wuz his head wuzn't long 
enough. 

Snow— I can't say as to that, for after the bear was 
finished with him there wasn't enough left to measure. 

Theodore— Meeting with so many different fates ah, 
don't you know, there must be quite a number of the 
lower classes — I mean miners — die at Klondike. 

Slim Jim— Die! well I should snicker! My pard 
and I staked out our claim last season with frozen 
tenderfeet. 

Snow— (seeing Theedy grow skeptical hastens to re- 
mark) Oh that was your claim was it? I wondered 
who had taken the trouble to get so many stiffs to- 
gether. But say, Slim, you remember little Mack, the 
undertaker? 

Slim Jim— Oh, "Wee Sandy," I should think I did. 
He left here for the mountains last spring with hardly a 
red to his name. 

Snow— That's the man. I was just going to tell you 
how he tried to make a grubstake out of a tenderfoot. 
Word came to camp that a wealthy man was at Juneau 
trying to find out something about his son who had 
started off for the gold fields and had got drowned in 
some of the canyons en route. Mac. decided to take 
up the lead as a speculation and mutilating a dead 

[ 210 ] 



carcase he had come across, to resemble the descrip- 
tion he had received, he sent word that the body was 
found, and asked to know would he prepare a coffin 
for the dead. It took some time for this to happen 
and by the time the old man arrived on the scene the 
corpse was a little the worse for wear. The father was 
forced to take Mac's word that it tallied with the 
description and immediately made Mac's heart glad by 
ordering an expensive burial outfit. But just as he 
was turning away from what he thought was his poor 
dead son, the chin rest fell to one side and caused the 
jaw to drop far enough to display a fine set of teeth. 
Amazement covered the tourist's face for a moment and 
then, remembering that his son had early lost both sets 
by an accident, countermanded the order and proceeded 
to make further search. 

Slim Jim — That was hard on Mac. 

Snow — Yes, that's where the joke comes in. The 
stranger had no sooner left the cabin than Mac, un- 
able to restrain his disappointment, went up to the 
corpse, and slapping it violently (goes through motion) 
on the face, said: "There, take that you lout. If you'ld 
onlv had enough sense to hold your mouth shut you'ld 
o'had a decent burial and I'd o'been a hundred and 
fifty dollars in pocket." 

Theodore — Weally, gentlemen, I must implore you to 
stop. Your strange experiences make my flesh creep — 
don't you know. By the way, Mr. Willoughby, when 
does the ball begin? It's after nine now. (Looking 
at watch.) 

Willoughby — You're right. Slim, I guess you'd better 
set the ball a rolling. But (turning to Theodore) you 
will have to change will you not? (With a wink at 
the others.) 

Theodore — Oh, certainly. I will retire at once — with 
your permission, gentlemen — and will meet you here 
later. Come Tommy. 

(Exeunt Theedy and Tommy). 

Scene II. 

(Same saloon but folding doors at back opened to 
give room for dancing. Music starts and a procession 
of Indian women in gaudy calico dresses and miners 
in rough clothes pass in and a square dance (quadrille) 
with Snow as floor manager calling out the 
different figures. Slim, behind bar, and all others dance. 
Just as it ends, Theodore enters in full dress, followed 

[ 211 ] 



by the ubiquitous Tommy. Of course the full dress 
attracts immediate attention, as the Indian women have 
never seen such an outfit, and the miners, who are 
mostly in their shirt sleeves, with sombrero hats, rubber 
high topped boots, and patched clothing, are amused 
at the contrast.) 

Theodore — Well, did you ever — who are those 
creatures with the red faces? Is this the ball? 
Tommy — ah — where are you, Tommy. Oh, dear, I be- 
lieve I will go snipe shooting. 

Willoughby — Ah, Mr. Spoopendike, glad to see you 
back. I'm sure you will enjoy a turn with the ladies. 
Your striking and select appearance will make you the 
observed of all observers. Ladies always appreciate a 
man who, like themselves, dresses for the occasion. 

Theodore — (uncomfortable) Weaily, I don't know 
about that — or rather — I must be going, don't you 
know. At what time did you say we were to go snipe 
shooting? 

(General titter.) 

Willoughby — Oh, don't let that interfere with present 
pleasure, Mr. Spoopendike. We can postpone that, Mr. 
Spoopendike — indeed we can — seem' you're so tired, 
you know. 

Snow — Ah, Mr. Spoopendike ; so glad you are here. 
This is just where a young sport like you will enjoy 
yourself. The ladies are in rapture over you. What a 
lucky dog you are, to be sure. Blue Blood always tells 
when ladies are around. 

Theodore — But I fail to see any ladies, ah — white 
ladies I mean. 

Snow — Well that is a joke. Say Dick, Mr. Spoopen- 
dike wants to know where the white ladies are — white 
ladies in Alaska, ha ! ha ! 

Willoughby — Wall yes, it is a good joke. Thar's 
a good many more of us looking for white ladies too. 
White ladies in Juneau, Mr. Spoopendike, are as scarce 
as chicken's teeth. They're not so scarce here as they 
are in the interior. When a man sees a white woman 
comin' along in 'thar he gets to one side so she'll have 
lots of room to pass. Then he stares her from head to 
foot till she's out of sight, and for weeks that day is a 
red letter day in his existence. Yes, whatever hap- 
pens around that time he sets down as "so many days 
before" or "so many days after" the day he saw the 
white lady. A good joke, Colonel, a good joke. Mr. 
Spoopendike is growing quite sociable. 

[ 212 ] 



Snow — (laughing immoderately) Sociable ain't the 
word for it, Deacon, he's a comedian. 

Theodore — I'm very thankful, gentlemen, for your 
appreciation, but weally — ah — I am so anxious — ah — 

Snow — Oh, is that so. I will go this very minute 
and procure a partner for you. (Hastens over to the 
furthest end of room.) 

Theodore — Weally — weally — (calling louder). You 
mistake me. I — ah — desire to go — ah — snipe shooting, 
don't you know. 

(Louder titter.) 

li illoughby — Never mind the snipe shooting, Mr. 
Spoopendike. We have delayed that part of the pro- 
gramme purposely to give you the pleasure of a waltz. 

Theodore — A waltz. Save me. No, I wasn't going 
to waltz anyway, but with one of those vulgar creat- 
ures, I really must decline — I — 

Snozc — (who returns with Starlitz, whom he intro- 
duces as "the princess" with great show of decorum) 

Snoii' — Allow me, Mr. Spoopendike. Recognizing 
your great and shining abilities, Starlitz, the beautiful — 
the famous Jim Jam princess Starlitz — has graciously 
consented to a waltz with you. 

Theodore — (In terrible hot water) I'm sure you are 
very kind, yes, very kind indeed — but — 

If 'illoughby — (aside to Snow) He's thinking of his 
vow to Izzy now. 

Theodore — "But you see I am unwell, or rather I 
should say, Tommy, will you go at once and arrange 
my shooting apparel. 

Tommy — Yes, Guv. Seein' as 'ow as hit's my bread 
hand butter, but I 'ates to leave this henchanting scene. 

(Exit Tommy.) 

Theodore — You see, Miss Star — Starlitz, did you say? 
(Turns to Snow who bows serenely) I am going snipe 
shooting. 

(General titter.) 

Snow — Miss Starlitz does not understand English 
very well, Mr. Spoopendike. But she is the daughter 
of the most powerful Indian chief in these parts and it 
would be safer not to hurt her feelings in any way. 
She is greatly fascinated with your dress coat and I 
believe if you tried real hard, you might become joint 
ruler with her when her father dies. 

Theodore — Oh, weally, I cannot — don't you know. 
This is so embarrassing, I — aw — 

Slim Jim — (who approaches with a revolver in his 

[ 213 ] 



hand seemingly quite careless as to the possibility of 
its going off, even though the barrel is pointing at 
Theodore) See hyar, stranger. These ladies are here 
at my request. I hain't the slightest doubt but that 
you are overwhelmed with the sublime honor that 
Starlitz has conferred upon you. In fact, I s'pose that's 
what made you fergit the ball is waitin' on you. I 
might say incidentally that it's part of my dooty as 
temporary guardian of the ladies to see that they are 
politely treated, and I hain't the slightest doubt either, 
that you will assist me in that pertikler. It is one of the 
rules of the floor in a mining camp that when a man is 
requested by a lady to dance he must accept the situa- 
tion or provide a substitute. It is unnecessary (speaks 
in a stage whisper aside to Theedy) to mention that 
this gun is loaded for b'ar. 

Theodore — But — but — I — 

Slim Jim — Strike up the music Fiddler. All take 
your partners for a waltz. 

Starlitz — Cum, me tink you vely plitty. Me no mind 
you no dance good ; me show you. 
(Pulls Theodore's arm.) 

Theodore — (in agony) Oh Tommy, Tommy, where is 
Tommy? He'll be my substitute. 

(Starlitz tugs at his arm and looking round for 
Tommy he sees Slim Jim cock the revolver. There is 
no pity there. Tommy is gone for the shooting ap- 
parel. It seems to be death or waltz. So finally he 
waltzes in a most ludicrous manner ; his eyes fixed on 
a level with the revolver and his head bent back as 
though to get his nose as far away from his partner as 
possible. Tommy comes in while the waltz is in pro- 
gress and says :) 

Tommy — Say Guv., she's not quite as tall as Miss 
Izzy, but she's 'hall there. 

Theodore — Hush, Tommy, for heaven's sake — (sees 
the revolver). Don't remind me of that sweet face. 

Starlitz — You tink my face is sweet? Me tink you 
vely pletty fellow. 

(Finally all sit down but Theodore and Starlitz. The 
revolver still gleams and Theedy is too scared to stop.) 

Tommy — (not seeing the revolver incident is wonder- 
ing) You're shooting apparel is ready, Guvnor. But 
say ! You seem to be stuck on waltzing. I don't 
blame you heither. She's a "bute" and no mistake. 
(Music stops but revolver still in position.) 

Slim Jim — Why, Mr. Souponstrike, you enjoy the 

[ 214 ] 



dance more than we imagined you would. If you will 
stop for a moment, I'll ask them to strike up a polka. 

Theodore — (stops abruptly when danger is past) 
God forbid — a polka — Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. 

Tommy — 'Ere y'are, Guv. Wot can I do to hadd to 
yer pleasure? 

Theodore — Please carry this royal lady (irony) round 
the floor during the next dawnce — the floor rules de- 
mand a substitute. 

Willoughby — (apparently oblivious of revolver inci- 
dent) But don't rush off unless you wish, Mr. Spoopen- 
dike, I knew you would like it. 

Snow — Yes, stay a bit longer. You can have the 
same partner again if you like. Oh, (poking Theodore 
in ribs) you are a lucky dog and no mistake. 

Theodore — Don't mention it, Gentlemen, you see I 
have taken a fancy to snipe shooting (titter) and 
although I hate to drag you away from — ah — the ball, 
if you will call at my hotel, I will be ready to accompany 
you at once — if not sooner. 

Snow — But why go to your hotel? 

Theodore — Oh, I need my shooting apparel, don't 
you know. 

Willoughby — Never mind changing again, Mr. 
Spoopendike. It's getting late you know. Slim can 
lend you a pair of gum boots and we'll go at once. Eh ! 
Colonel? 

Slim Jim — Yes, he can have 'em. (Holds out boots.) 

Snow — All right; let's go snipe shooting. 

(Titter.) 

Starlitz — (coming forward quickly as she sees three 
getting ready to go.) Mr. Sooptike, me want to dance 
polka wis you. 

Theodore — Weally, my deah lady, I have a very 
pwessing pwevious engagement, don't you know — and it 
is weally — (looking round furtively for revolver) im- 
possible to take advantage of your thoughtfulness. 
(Aside) Tommy, didn't I tell you to assist the lady 
around the room ; let her polka with you for heaven's 
sake. 

Tommy — (who is really delighted) All right Guv., 
seein' has 'ow has hit's my bread hand butter, I never 
likes to fight with wot I 'as to heat. 

(Tommy takes Starlitz in tow. Theodore takes high 
boots and miners grin in back ground.) 

Curtain. 
[ 215 1 



ACT III— STILL AMONG THE PHILISTINES. 

Scene I. 

Theodore — (Discovered standing up to his knees in 
swamp, holding a lantern in one hand and a game bag, 
which he has difficulty in keeping open, in the other. 
His dress suit is wet and limpid, the tall hat being par- 
ticularly the worse for wear.) I wonder what time it 
is — I can't hardly hold my eyes open — I can't understand 
how it is Mr. Willoughby and his friend do not 
come back — strange there has not been a single snipe 
shot. This is beastly uncomfortable — but it's better 
than dancing with those salmony smelling natives — 
I'm glad Izzy didn't see that, don't you know. But 
hush, there's that crackling again. It's been going on 
all night. It must be bears — that's what they meant 
when they said "the woods were full of them." It's 
a good thing I have a light — I loaned Mr. Willoughby 
my gun — he said his was at the locksmith's having the 
barrel greased. But, mercy on me, the lantern is going 
out — We'll never be able to get back to the canoe — 
and the snipes won't see the bag either — and Mr. Snow 
— (crackling in bushes) But there it is again — just 
what they said — the bears will come when the light 
goes out — so the miners said. What vulgar creatures 
miners are, to be sure — but they're better than bears. 
Mercy on me, the crackling comes nearer — Will I call 
out? — No, no, it's sure to be a bear — I wonder is my 
arm long enough, but hush — it's whistling. 

Tommy — (Who has been whistling the chorus tune 
of "Oh where, oh where, has my little dog gone." 
breaks out into song from behind the scenes as fol- 
lows :) 

THE TYPEWRITER GIRL. 



I once was a music hall singer, 
The critics all knew me by name ; 

And when I was singing they'd linger 
To listen and add to my fame. 

Oh those were my happiest days ; 

[ 216 ] 




Theedy "holding the bag" in a snipe shooting expedition 

See page 216 



There in front of the footlights' blaze; 

With my head and my heart in a whirl ; 
For must I confess 
I owed my success, 

To a sweet little typewriter girl. 

CHORUS 

Oh yes, she was a sweet typewriter girl ; 

My sweet little typewriter girl ; 
With her lips in pout and her hair in curl, 

A sweet little typewriter girl. 

II 

My typewriter girl was a novice, 

When I first got in range of her smile; 
She worked for a baker named Hovis, 

Who didn't catch on to her style. 
He said she was slow as a coach : 
Wasn't that a disgraceful reproach 

To hurl at my dear little pearl? 
And he gave her the sack, 
When she answered him back ; 

Sacked my sweet little typewriter girl. 

Ill 

She then got a "sit" with an author, 

Who said she'd have half of his gains; 
He gave her a great deal of bother, 

But neither got aught for their pains. 
And then she got terribly "broke," 
And put all my presents in soak, 

Before she her tale would unfurl ; 
But I had a "pile," 
Which went with a smile 

To my dear little typewriter girl. 



r 217 ] 



IV 

Then when she had spent all my savings, 

She dropped on a nice little snap; 
For a lawyer whose last name was Shavings, 

Gave her nothing to do — the kind chap. 
But he fell in love with her grace, 
Her delicate fingers and elegant face, 

Her chin, and her cheek, and her •curl; 
Till I took to drink, 
For what do you think? 

He married my typewriter girl. 

Tommy — (Emerging from woods as he sings last 
chorus) Hey, Guvnor — Guvnor! 

Theodore — Oh, Tommy, it's you, is it? I'm so glad 
you've come. 

Tommy — Why, Guv, Where 'ave you been hall night? 

Theodore — Snipe shooting, Tommy, snipe shooting — 
Don't you remember when I left the ball with Mr. 
Willoughby and that actor man. It does seem a long 
time ago — But you recall it, don't you? 

Tommy — But they came back hafter that and danced 
till past midnight. 

Theodore — What time is it now, Tommy? I can't 
see my watch. 

Tommy — Time! Don't you see hit's daybreak? They've 
just sent me hoff to see why you haren't ready to start 
for Klondike. It must be past 5 o'clock now and they 
say you arranged to go at 4. 

Theodore — Do they? How strange! They are very 
forgetful people, don't you know — Why, they left me 
here at 11 o'clock last night to hold the lantern and the 
bag. They cautioned me to hold the bag open, because 
they said when the snipes did come they'd come with a 
rush. 

Tommy — They've been aguying hof vou, Guv. That's 
sure. But they're in dead hearnest, now, for they've 
taken your houtfit and told me to tell vou to 'urry and 
catch hup to them. 

Theodore — But, Tommy, I have not had a wink of 
sleep. 

Tommy — No more hain't I, Guv. Wot, with drinking 
your 'ealth with Slim Jim and the boys, as yer re- 
quested, and hacting as yer substitoot all night with 

[ 218 ] 



Starlitz, I clean forgot hit was night. But, say, Guv, 
that wench is a rum un hand no mistake. She hasked 
to be remembered to you. 

Theodore — Tommy, my deah fellow, you must never 
breathe a word about that episode — or any other episode 
I might add — when we come back from Klondike. 

Tommy — (dramatically) Yer secrets dies with me, 
Guv. — Put it there. (Shakes hands). 

Theodore — But we must be going. Do you know the 
way, Tommy ? 

Tommy — Oh, yes, Slim Jim pointed hout the spot 
they was to land for breakfast. 

Theodore — Mercy ! Tommy, is that dreadful man 
going to Klondike, too ? 

Tommy — Yes, it was 'im as took the canoe we were 
to 'ave and said we were to walk. 

Theodore — And they have all the outfit? 

Tommy — Yes, Guv. I'd 'av made 'em wait if there 
'ad been only two or three — but there was a dozen 
'owlin' savages along, and hevery one on 'em took 
French leave hof a harmful. 

Theodore — What will become of us if we can't catch 
up? It's bad enough if we do catch up, but if we don't, 
we'll starve, Tommy. 

Tommy — Yes, (pensively) hunless we draws lots, as 
thev does in story books, and heats one another. 

Theodore — How can you suggest such a vulear thing, 
Tommy? Deah me, let us find the outfit at once, so 
that I may dress for breakfast. 

Tommy — Hall right, Guv. (with a grimace) Seein' 
as 'ow has hit's likely to be my bread hand butter, I 
never likes to fight with wot I 'as to heat. Come along. 

(Exeunt.) 

Scene II. 

Snow — (Discovered with Dick on shore of Takoo, 
with shake hut in the background) Deacon, we haven't 
had such a streak of luck in many a day. When our 
Fifth Avenue friend gets back to New York, he'll have 
a different idea of gold mining than he had when he 
left. 

Willoughby — Rather. It's too bad our time is so 
limited. I'd like to give him some real experience. 
Get him on his knees in a drift, for instance. 

Snow — A drift. He would'nt know what you meant. 
Drifts and dumps and tailings are all one to him, and 
would be "vewy vulgar, don't you know," to say the 

[ 219 ] 



least. He may have heard somewhere that all that 
glitters is not gold, but it takes tenderfeet a long time 
to find that a good deal that doesn't glitter is as good 
gold as the rest of it. Upon my honor, pard, I en- 
joyed the dance last night more than usual. 

Willoughby — It was amusing, Colonel. But the dance 
couldn't hold a candle to the snipe shooting. The 
snipe-shooting was picturesque. I don't often laugh, 
George, but I broke the record last night out in the 
woods. I joined the procession from Juneau a little 
after midnight, and to see that booby standing out there 
like a frozen rat, and waiting till the snipes fell into 
the bag was too much for even my risibilities. 

Snow — Ha! ha! Same here, Dick. If we'd only had 
a kodak, eh? Do you know he set me thinking of my 
make up the time I played "The Private Secretary" in 
Cariboo. As luck would have it, a rainstorm came on 
during the performance and the shack we played in 
leaked so badly my clerical habit clung to me closer 
than his royal nib's dress coat. But, Deacon, the steam- 
boat will be here tonight and we'd better get a move on. 

Willoughby — Yaas, that's the worst of it, we won't 
have time to get him properly salted down. 

Snow — How will we apologize for leaving him out 
in the wet? He'll be howling mad when the little un 
finds him. 

Willoughby — Don't trouble yourself on that score. 
I've had to deal with too many tenderfeet in my time, 
to dodge at that prospect. He'll smell a rat when he 
hears from his valet that we were at the dance after 
leaving him, and he's too dignified to mention a thing 
in which he cut such a ludicrous figure. Keep mum, 
and you'll never hear another word about it. 

Snow — I guess you're right, pard ; and anyway, a man 
who hasn't enough sense "to come in out of the wet" 
ain't liable to make much fuss. What's the next item 
on the program? Will we let him have a shy at cook- 
ing his own grub or — 

Willoughby — Why, Colonel, I gave you credit for 
knowing how to handle a tenderfoot. 

Snow — Well, Dick, it does do my heart good to see 
the smoke follow a greenhorn around a camp fire. I 
never knew a case yet where it failed. 

Willoughby — Yes, that's straight enough — but a board- 
in' house in the woods with a klootch as kitchen maid 
is the only sure inducement for camp solitude ; and we 
want him to go into that of his own accord. No man 

[ 220 ] 



ever appreciates the comfort of burning his fingers 
and putting out the fire with the upsetting coffee pot 
until he has seen how "those low-down miner people" 
get over the cooking act when there's an Indian woman 
around. 

Snow — But, Dick, we ain't got no klootch handy. I've 
convinced Starlitz that Spoopy is dying for her, and 
she's coming round about sunset — but — between times. 

IVilloitghby — Between times we'll get along without 
her. Ain't you an actor, Colonel? What's your pro- 
fession good for if you can't make practical use of it 
sometimes? Holy smoke, man, you'll make a jewel of 
an Indian. Just paint yourself up to beat four of a 
kind. Spoopy hasn't been long enough in Alaska to 
know when he sees the genuine article. 

Snow — Ha ! ha ! Deacon, you're a nugget with the dirt 
washed off. But what is that? I fancy I hear them 
coming. Keep 'em here till I get a chance to tog up. 
By-the-way, remember he thinks Slim Jim is part of 
the outfit, and I made sure too to let little Cocky see 
the Siwashes loading the canoe. Of course he didn't 
dream we were sending the stuff back to the steamboat 
wharf, and I've no doubt the duet have, by this time, 
concluded the whole Indian nation are to escort them 
to the Yukon. 

(Exit Snow) 

Theodore — (from the woods) Tommy, my deah 
Tommy, don't go so fast — Oh — ow — I do believe the 
twigs are getting in my way on purpose to trip me up. 
Ow — ouch — for mercy's sake, hold on, Tommy, till I 
catch up. That last branch struck me right on the nose, 
don't you know — Deah, deah, are we near the place? 

Tommy — Near the place? No. We hain't got to the 
hocean yet. W r e're going so slow, I don't believe we'll 
get there in time for breakfast, and I could heat a 
w'ole hox, myself. I don't know 'ow you feel. 

Theodore — Going slow? Why, Tompkins, I never 
walked so fast in my life before. 

Tommy — Well, yer Tghness, you'll 'ave to get a 
rustle on if yer want to keep hup with those miner 
chaps. That Slim Jim is a rum un. Why, I seed 'im 
put two revolvers in his pocket and a butcherknife in 
his belt. 

Theodore — (Voices getting nearer) Did he say what 
he was going to do with them, Tommy? 

Tommy — Naw. But thank 'eaven 'ere we hare hat 
last. 

[ 221 ] 



(Comes on stage.) 

Theodore — Where, Oh — ouch — Tommy, wait a minute, 
or weally I shall be compelled to obtain another valet — 
weally, I shall. Oh, I do believe I have broken my 
great toe. 

(Comes on stage limping, still in his dress suit, 
which is torn and muddy and his silk hat is out of 
shape.) 

Willoughby — Why, Mr. Spoopendike, I'm so glad to 
see you. It's too bad to wake you up at such an un- 
earthly hour, but we had to do it, business is business, 
and we must be first on the field if we want to make 
a paying stake. But you've been having a constitutional, 
I see — it's a fine appetizer. One needs something of 
that kind to appreciate one's breakfast. But that re- 
minds me, did you make any arrangements about a 
French cook or anything in that line. You'll hardly 
care to put up with our humble diet. 

Theodore — Weally, Mr. Willoughby, I quite over- 
looked the culinarv part of the expedition — indeed. I 
half believed we would be able to drop into the halfway 
houses and inns enroute and get what we desired in 
that way. 

Willoughby — How strange that a man of your evident 
ability, whose ingenious mind even thought of such de- 
tails as a cradle to rock the gold — dark glasses to save 
your eyes from the glittering dust — and a kettle to boil 
the bullion — and yet did not arrange for a bite to eat. 
But great men are always like that, as you say. Of 
course you can drop into the eating houses by the way. 

Tommy — Say, Guv., I 'opes you wont wait till we 
come across a heating 'ouse in this 'owlin' desert. I 
don't know 'ow you feel, but it seems to me has 'as yer 
best interest hat 'art — hit seems to me has 'ow you 
nought to 'ave something, not to mention the mouth- 
ful I'd like myself. 

Theodore — Indeed, Tommy, you are quite right. Mr. 
Willoughby, can you undertake to find the necessary 
accommodations for us en route? 

Willoughby — I shall be most happy to do so. It will 
be such an honor to have you eat at my own table — 
most of the family have already breakfasted, but if you 
wish I will ask my fair partner to prepare a repast for 
you. 

Theodore — (Patronizingly) Don't mention it, I'm sure 
I always try to adapt myself to the ways of the lower 
classes, don't you know, when circumstances require 

[ 222 ] 



me to be in their company. I hope you will feel quite 
at home while I am around, indeed I do. 

Willoughby — Certainly, Mr. Spoopendike, certainly ; 
you are very kind, "don't you know." If vou'll just 
come over with me I will introduce you to the one who 
has sworn to honor and obey — "don't you know." 

(Exit) 

Theodore — And so we are to meet a lady, and me in 
this condition. Tommy, let us change hats. The 
weather has played such havoc with mine that it is 
not becoming. It does not so much matter how you 
look. 

Tommy — Hall right, Guv. I spose it don't. Hany- 
how, seein' hit's my bread hand butter, I never like to 
fight with wot I 'as to heat. 

(They change hats and hurry after Willoughby). 

Scene III. 

(Snow discovered in front of tent dressed like an 
Indian woman, with his face and hands painted, his 
head in a handkerchief, and a dirty blanket around his 
shoulders. A camp fire is visible with a pot fastened 
over it. Snow busy at the pot when Willoughby enters, 
followed by Theedy and Tommy.) 

Willoughby — Halloa, Old stick-in-the-mud, have you 
any muck-a-muck left? (Aside to Theodore — muck- 
a-muck is Chinook for grub) I've brought you two 
new boarders — This one is Mr. Spoopendike, and this 
one — by-the-way, what is your name, Shorty? 

Tommy — Oh, hit don't matter wot you calls me has 
long has you gives me enough to heat. 

Theodore — He is my valet, don't you know. 

Snow — Valet — Valley, What is Valley? Oh, yes, now 
I see. Dat's a goot choke, ha ! ha ! ha ! when zay are 
together zay do look like a mountain and a valley. 

Theodore — Beg pardon, Madam, did you speak? 

Willoughby — Oh, don't mind her, Mr. Spoopendike, 
she is quite harmless, except when there is "hoochinoo" 
around. 

Theodore — And what do you mean by hoochinoo, 
pray? 

Willoughby — Oh, I beg your pardon. I do keep for- 
getting that you don't know the language yet. Hooch- 
inoo is Chinook for whiskey. 

Theodore — Aw, indeed. This Chinook is quite a 
serious impediment, don't you know. Strange they 
didn't teach it at college. Why, one needs it more than 
Latin, don't you know. 

[ 223 ] 



Willoughby — Yaas, (dryly) it is peculiar, but when 
one has knocked about the world as long as I have he 
finds that there are several other things besides Chinook 
that they don't teach at college. 

Theodore — Oh, nonsense, Mr. Willoughby, you must 
be prejudiced. But ah — by-the-way — you know you 
said you were going to introduce me to your fair 
partner, don't you know. 

Willoughby — My partner? Why, hain't I introduced 
you yet. I beg your pardon, indeed I do. Stick-in-the- 
mud, turn round so the gentleman can see you. Mr. 
Spoopendike — Stick-in-the-mud, Stick-in-the-mud Mr. 
Spoopendike. She don't talk the best of English but 
you'll find her very pood-natured. But I see it's getting 
late. If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I'll go and look 
uo Slim Jim, for it's time to be getting on. Make your- 
self comfortable. Stick-in-the-mud will have your 
muck-a-muck ready in a minute or two. 

(Exit to back of tent where he hides in order to see 
the performance.) 

Snow — (Addressing Theodore, while Tommy is at 
other side of stage) Clah bow yah, tillicum? 

Theodore — Beg pardon ! 

Snow — Clah how yah? 

Theodore — I weally don't comprehend your meaning, 
madam, I assure you I don't. Say something else and 
perhaps — 

Snow — Niki halo cumtux, eh! Well, how is your 
tumtum? 

Theodore — My tumtum — weally, madam, you have me 
again — What is "tumtum," pray? You see my Chinook 
education has been somewhat neglected. 

Snow — Tumtum means health — now saby — How is 
your tumtum? 

Theodore — Oh, if it's my health you mean, why, my 
health is very good — at least considering — don't you 
know. Tommy, Tommy, come here like a good fellow, 
and converse with this cannibal. 

Tommy — Comin', Guv., comin'. I wuz just trying to 
see if I could see the houtfit, but hit hain't wisible. Wot's 
the matter, old thing-a-my-jig? 

Snow — How is your tumtum? 

Tommy — Hey? 

Snow — How is your tumtum? 

Tommy — Oh, my tumtum's hall right. Don't worry 
about that ole lady — leastwise, hit would be alright hif 
hit wasn't so hempty. Can you 'urry along the victuals? 

[ 224 ] 



I know the Guv. hiz dyin' for something nourishing— 
and has for me, I'm hin my coffin. 

Snow — I make you muck-a-muck before soon. Like 
you beans wis your hardtack? (Pitches sea biscuits at 
Tommy and Theodore.) Or would you razzer have 
hardtack wiz your beans? (Dips tin cup into pot and 
fills two tin plates with beans as he speaks.) 

Theodore — ''horrified) Beg pawdon, Madam, but I 
never eat beans at breakfast. (Aside to Tommy— Let 
us go and see if we cannot get a poached egg on toast, 
or something else, no matter how plain it is at the 
nearest restaurant. I couldn't think of eating anything 
here. 

Tommy— Say, Guv., We'll have to make the best hof 
hit. There hare no Delmonico's in these woods, I 
know. Not heven han haerated Bread Company's 
Teapot (depot).* 

Theodore— Make the best of it! Why, Tommy, it's 
impossible. Who ever heard of soup for breakfast? 
I don't wonder they call it muck-a-muck. 

Tommy— Yes, Guv., hit's bean soup and now hit's 
muck-a-muck. Ha! ha! 'Ow is that for a joke old 
copper skin?— (Aside) Nothing like keepin' the ole 
lady in good humor, you know. 

Theodore— Tommy, don't make me ill. The smell of 
that creature's blanket reminds me of a salmon cannery, 
it has taken away all my appetite, as well as my respect 
for Willoughby. The idea of a man living in the same 
house with that hideous spectacle. But what can one 
expect of the lower classes? A college education makes 
all the difference. 

Tommy — The smell doesn't interfere with my happe- 
tite, Guv. But p'raps I 'av a different kind from you. 
Wot do you mean when you says happetite? 

Theodore — Why, I mean my desire for something to 
eat. 

Tommy — I knew the American variety must be 
different. In London w'en we says happetite we means 
wen we're heatin', hit don't matter wot, we're 'appy, 
and w'en we're drinkin', we're tight— happytite, see! 
But 'ush, Guv., the horacle's goin' to speak. 

Snow— Mr. Valley, here is ze coffee. All ze ozzer 
cups are full. Take a drink and zen pass ze cup on 
to ze mountain. 

Theodore— Merciful stars, defend me from that sav- 

* An allusion to the ABC restaurant system, of London. 

f 225 1 



age. The idea of asking me to drink out of the same 
utensil as my servant. Let us go at once. 

Tommy — (Who has been stealing a mouthful when 
opportunity offered.) Better not go yet, you can 'ave 
the first drink hif you like. W'y, that's nothin' at all. 
I used to heat at a kitchen in London w'ere they 'ad 
so much custom that they used to let the reglars sit hat 
a long table with one big plate in front hof heach man ; 
and then a cadger came hin with a big squirting affair 
like a syringe. He came to hus by turn and has ee 
squirted the stuff into the plate, 'eed say; "soup." Hif 
we wanted hany we didn't say hanything, but hif we 
d'dn't like that pertickler kind we'd say, "Naw," and 'eed 
suck it up with the machine again like this (Tommy 
goes through action with his hands and makes a 
sucking sound with his mouth) and then pass on to 
the next. 

Theodore — Deah me, you make me feel faint. Come, 
we must go at once. 

Tommy — Well, Guv., hits a question hof drawing lots 
in the woods ; facing Slim Jim ; hor putting hup with 
the ole ladv's peculiarities. Perhans the old duffer 
ain't so bad w'en you knows her a while. 

Theodore — "Nose" her, indeed. Oh, why did I forget 
a French cook. 

Tommy — Cheer up, Guv., I'll sing you a song to 
bring back your happetite. 

(Snow who has been passing in and out of the tent 
at appropriate intervals now remains outside until song 
is over.) 

THE BOARDIN' MISSIS' SMILE. 

Though I've been in many lands, 

And have passed through many hands, 
In my search for peace and comfort without guile ; 

Yet I have found out at last, 

That all joy in life is past, 
If you cannot make your boardin' missis smile. 

Though your friends be of the best, 
And you sport a satin vest, 
And at balls and picnics live in highest style; 



[ 226 ] 



All your pomp will be in vain, 
For no real joy can you gain, 
If you cannot make your boardin' missis smile. 

When your wages are increased — 

Say five hundred at the least, 
It may make you feel quite happy for a while; 

But it is not worth a song 

(Though, of course, I may be wrong) 
If you cannot make your boardin' missis smile. 

If some little Cupid's dart 

Has with love inflamed your heart, 
And your lady takes it off into exile ; 

While you wait your wedding morn, 

You will wish you ne'er was born 
If you cannot make your boardin' missis smile. 

If a bachelor you stay, 

And you hoard your cash away, 
Till at length you have contrived to save a pile ; 

What is all your money worth, 

Is it use for aught on earth 
If you cannot make your boardin' missis smile? 

So, young man, just starting out, 

Take advice, and you, no doubt, 
Will ensure yourself real comfort by this wile; 

If with you the girls do flirt, 

Treat them kind, but be alert 
That you always court the boardin' missis' smile. 

Snow — (Entering) Me see a canoe at ze water. If 
it is Slim Jim he will come to strike ze camp and you 
will not have somethin' at all to eat. 

Tommy — (Evidently startled) Come, Guv., we hain't 
got no time to lose. 

Theodore — Weally, Tommy, I could not lower myself 
to partake of viands prepared by that creature. In 

[ 227 ] 



future, since we have no cook, we will ourselves do 
the necessary cooking. But in order to keep the woman 
in good humor as you suggest, you had better take some 
of that — ah — 

Tommy — Beans. 

Theodore — While I stroll around and view the 
scenery, don't you know. 

Tommy — (Who has already half finished his share, 
pours Theodore's part into his, and says:) Hall right, 
Guv., since you thinks hit's best and seein' as 'ow as 
hit's my bread and butter, there ain't hany use fightin' 
with wot one 'as to heat. 

(Tableau) 

Tommy — Eating beans, ravenously. 

Theodore — Horrified, but hungry. 

Snow — In rift in tent, chuckling and making signs to 
Willoughby. 

Willoughby — Peering from behind a tree. 
(Curtain) 



[ 228 ] 



ACT IV— EN ROUTE FOR HOME. 
Scene 1. 

Snow — Speak low, Deacon, they're just out in the 
clearing yonder, trying to light their first camp fire. 
I left the cooking utensils near a pile of wet wood on 
purpose. 

Willoughby — How was the long one feeling after the 
tossing he got? 

Snow — Oh, "Bettah, much bettah, thank you." Say, 
Dick, I never laughed so much since I had the measles. 

Willoughby — It was somewhat amusing. It's only 
once in a lifetime a tenderfoot crosses the Takoo with- 
out knowing where his stomach is — and the worst of it 
was, there was no cabin or "night gown" handy to hide 
his difficulty. 

Snow — I never saw one swell so disgusted with 
another in all my chequered career. Ha! ha! But I'm 
afraid we'll miss the boat by it. 

Willoughby — Miss the boat — bah ! Why, man, he's 
been dying for an excuse to get back for the last six 
hours. When he saw the white caps and icebergs on 
tother side of the Takoo he wanted me to take him to 
Juneau again for a larger canoe. When I suggested 
that there were no larger ones there, he assured me in 
that case that he'd go to New York for one. 

Snow — Ha ! ha ! Well, by the holy smoke, that beats 
the Dutch. I asked him about five minutes ago — while 
I was laying out the provisions — if he didn't think it 
wise to take a run down to civilization again, to get 
a French cook. 

Willoughby — And what did he say? 

Snow — He said he'd go to Klondike — or to the north 
pole, for that matter — before he'd risk crossing that 
"dweadful Takoo" again. We should have taken him 
at his word to go to New York for a larger canoe, 
before we left the other side. 

Willoughby — Not much. I promised the Cap., I'd 
meet him on this side. (Looking at watch) By George! 
it only wants an hour of the appointed time, too. We 
must give the youth a right good finishing touch. Sneak 
off to windward, like a good fellow, and post the boys 
at the Indian camp to make lots of noise when you 
see me rustling toward the kids. When the steamer 
whistles, send Starlitz along like a streak with her little 

[ 229 ] 



tale of woe — if you can make her believe it, so much 
the better — and then leave the rest to yours truly. 

Snow — All right, Deacon. If those youngsters don't 
have a higher opinion of miners after today, we'd 
better go out of the business, but — hush (Starts to go). 

Willoughby — By-the-way, pard, you better follow us 
into the canoe when we do get started. I've an idea 
I may need you aboard ship. 

Snow — Cert. (Exeunt in opposite directions). 

Scene II. 

(Camp in woods; Tommy gathering logs and Theo- 
dore trying to light the fire. Smoke — smoke — nothing 
but smoke is the result, and it blows continually in 
the direction of Theodore.) 

Theodore — (Discovered in shirt-sleeves, and rubbing 
his eyes with blackened hands.) Do you know, Tommy, 
this going to Klondike is a serious undertaking — Oh, 
that beastly smoke ! and to hear those low-down miners 
talk we have not begun yet. 

Tommy — Don't you like hit, Guv.? We're 'aving 
lots hof hexperience. We'll be able to lead a Salvation 
Army prayer meeting w'en we gets back. 

Theodore — Experience ! I wish we didn't have quite 
so much. Weally, Tommy, I feel quite faint, don't you 
know. I have scarcely had a bite to eat since I left 
the steamer yesterday noon. 

Tommy — And the fishes got some of that, eh ! Guv. 
I told vou this morning there ain't no use fightin' with 
wot you 'as to heat. Them beans wasn't so bad w'en 
it come to heatin' of them. 

Theodore — Deah me, I wonder if there isn't some 
way of having a fire without smoke, don't you know? 
(rubs eyes) Gwacious me. How sore I am. That 
standing up in a bog all night has its after effects — But 
I hope the worst is over. 

Tommy — Not as I sees it, Guv., you'll 'ave to get 
used to a lot of things before the worst is over. W'y, 
there may be another Takoo for all we knows. 

Theodore — Another Takoo! Who told you, Tommy? 

Tommy — No one told me, Boss, I just 'appened to 
mention hit. (smiles) Wot'll we 'ave for supper, Guv., 
beans? 

Theodore — I don't know, Tommy ; by the look of this 
fire we are not liable to have anything. 

Tommy — Except smoked millionaire. 'Ere, let me 
fix it, w'ile you does the cookin.' (Fixes the fire.) 

[ 230 ] 



Theodore — Oh, deah, I wish I knew how they make 
"fricassee chicken." 

Tommy — Hor hif we 'ad some hof that blubber 
them Injuns use, we mi^ht 'ave some whale on toast, eh? 

Theodore — Let us see what they left for us. (explores 
box of provisions) Ah — (tasting) that's sugar; (takes 
parcel out and lays it on one side) I'm so glad they 
left us sugar, don't you know — Ah, and that's olive 
oil — yes, olive oil ; and that's — salt — and that vinegar, 
and rice — and oatmeal — and — let me see — (wry face) 
that's soft soap, I think. Ah, here are some plates. 
How thoughtful (opens parcel) why, no it isn't either, 
it's ah— 

Tommy — Hard tack. 

Theodore — And that's mustard — and that's — weally — 
Tommy, what is this? 

Tommy — W'y, Guv., that's bacon. 

Theodore — Aw, so it is (box getting empty) and 
that's bacon powder — and that's — (smells bottle without 
label). 

Tommy — (taking bottle and pulling cork and then 
drinking heartily) I think hit's bitters, Guv., (takes 
another pull to see) 'ere let's try again. Yes hit's 
bitters — that's wot hit his. 

Theodore — That's flour — and that's coffee — and that 
— how heavy it is, and it's the last too — Oh, Tommy, 
it's beans. 

Tommy — Well, I spose we'll 'ave to 'av some hof 
them now, eh ? 

Theodore — No, Tommy, I must weally dwaw the 
line somewhere, and I dwaw it at beans. 

Tommy — 'Ows that, Guv? They're heasy enough 
cooked, I know. 

Theodore — Of course you cannot understand my 
feelings in a matter of that kind, Tommy. I have been 
brought up to regard beans as a vewy vulgar vegetable. 
But there is no use casting pearls at swine. You lower 
classes can never appreciate the advantages of refine- 
ment. If we could only get to the Klondike without 
all this abominable, uninteresting, (burns his fingers 
trying to hold coffee pot from falling over the fire) 
painful detail, I would then show you how very su- 
perior it is to have had a college training. 

Tommy — Well, Guv., (pokes the fire) at this rate 
I wont 'ave an hopportunity hof testing your superior- 
ity. But I hain't kicking. If yer pays up like a man, 
I'll be dead in it without hever seein' Klondike. But, 

[ 231 ] 



Guv., wot's funny to me is w'y you turned hup yer 
nose w'en that Starlitz wench hasked you to 'ave another 
dance. That little un was just my size. She was wot 
I calls a topper. 

(Theodore spills the coffee in his disgust, and again 
burns his fingers trying to keep the contents from 
putting out the fire.) But say, Guv., yer likely to go 
to bed without supper — they only gave hus a hour to 
get ready to move again, and the time's nearly hup. 

Theodore — Oh, Tommy, I cawn't — here, you do the 
cooking too, that's a good fellow. 

Tommy — Hall right, Guv., seein' hit's my bread hand 
butter, I'm not goin' to fight with wot I 'as to heat. 
But 'ere's that bloke, Willoughby, comin' as hif 'eed lost 
something. (Enter Willoughby.) 

Willoughby — You haven't seen Slim Jim's pipe any- 
where, have you? 

Theodore- 1 Nq 

1 ommy — J 

Willoughby — Well, that is a blessing and no mis- 
take. There's bound to be a necktie party in camp 
tonight when the pipe is found. 

Theodore — A what? 

Willoughby — A lynching, I mean. 

Theodore — But they wouldn't hang a man for steal- 
ing a pipe, even if they did find him out, would they? 

Willoughby — Hang him ! I should think they would. 
Why, man, outside of Snow's monthly tragedies, a 
necktie party is the only amusement the miners have. 

Theodore — Deah, deah, You don't call that an amuse- 
ment, do you? 

Willoughby — Wall, you see, when men have lived all 
their lives in the mountains, they need something of 
that kind to be more than ordinarily exciting. Lynch- 
ing comes as natural to a miner as lying to a lawyer. 
To give you an instance. Once on a time there was a 
miner got into heaven by a fluke, do you understand? 

Theodore — Yes, I can very well understand that. 

Willoughby — Wall, when St. Peter came round and 
found him, he was sort of mad at first, but softened down, 
and promised to let him remain if he would reform. 
It went all right for a day or so, but the miner grew 
lonesome for some of his pals at last, and one night 
stole a march on Gabriel and let the whole diggins in 
before anyone could prevent him. 

Theodore — What a horrid man. 

Willoughby — That's what Peter thought when he saw 

[ 232 ] 




'Oh Tommy my dear noble fellow, here take the pipe 
in your pocket. i'm sure no one would take the 
trouble to hang a mere valet." 

See page 234 



what had happened ; and feeling it was impossible even 
for heaven to put out an organized mob of miners 
loaded to the neck, he concluded to visit his wrath on 
the man who let the rascals in. When the miner saw 
he couldn't frighten St. Peter with yarns, and it was 
either get the gang out or go himself, he proposed to 
Peter that if he'd let him stay he'd get the gang out 
without a struggle. St. Peter agreed, and the miner 
going to the gate when no one was looking he opened 
it excitedly and yelled at an imaginary crowd outside 
"Lynch him! lynch him!" at the top of his voice. The 
cry was too much for his pals. They would forfeit 
heaven rather than a lynching, and as they rushed out, 
pellmell, the miner stepped in quickly, shut the door 
and heaven was itself again. 

Theodore — But that is not true, surely? 

Willoughby — Well, I wasn't there, I'll admit, and I 
never like to vouch for anything I didn't see myself. 

(At this juncture Willoughby slips a pipe into Theo- 
dore's coat which is lying near and as though by 
accident trips on the coat and exposes pipe to view). 

But what is this, Mr. Spoopendike? Whew! fly for 
your life, stranger. That's the very pipe. Slim already 
suspects you. He's on the road here now to string 
you up, for an Indian told him you were the thief. 

Theodore — But — but — I never smoke a pipe — It's a 
mistake — I — oh, Tommy, run and give him the pipe 
immediately. 

Willoughby — That'll only prove you took it, man. 
He wont do the camp out of its sport, because you 
don't die game. 

Theodore — But I never took the pipe — I never even 
use a pipe, I only use cigarettes. 

Willoughby — For heaven's sake, don't tell Slim that, 
Mr. Spoopendike. He'll hang you then on general 
principles. A man who smokes cigarettes is worse in 
his estimation than a man who can't drink whiskey 
straight. 

Theodore — Oh deah, oh deah — (in great distress) 
Tommy, cawn't you say something? 

Tommy — Well, Guv., It's too bad you got found out. 
But in London, w'en a chap does something wrong 
hand his goin' to be caught, 'ee usually calls in the 
police. 

Willoughby — Police, your grandmother. Say, sonny, 
I thought you had more sense. The nearest policeman 
is a thousand miles away. 

[ 233 ] 



Tommy — Yes, just like it is in London. 

Theodore — (noise outside, and Theodore, who is be- 
side himself, says:) Run for a policeman, at once, 
Tommy, I will hand that bloodthirsty fellow over to 
him without the slightest compunction, weally, I will. 

Willoughby — But, man alive, Jim will be here in a 
few moments and a policeman wouldn't even hear of 
the assassination (groan from Theodore) until a month 
after it has happened. Fly, man, fly! — 

Theodore — But I didn't take the pipe, weally. 

Willoughby — But there it is in your coat. 

Theodore — Oh, Tommy, my deah, noble fellow, here, 
take the pipe in your pocket. I'm sure no one would 
take the trouble to hang a mere valet. 

Tommy — Sav, Guv., I'm just a little jubious hon 
that p'int. I 'ates to 'ave to fight with my bread hand 
butter, and wot's more, I wont, heither, hif you'll wait 
till I 'ears from Slim's hown mouth that 'ee doesn't 
'ang valets. 

Starlitz — (who enters hurriedly, while noise outside 
grows louder) Where is ze pletty man? 

Theodore — Too late ! too late ! here comes the mes- 
senger of death. Tommy, I had hoped to die, as be- 
came a person of my superior attainments — but that 
horrid man, no doubt, intends to make me waltz to 
eternity with a smoked salmon in my arms. 

Starlitz — Me came to save you — quick — quick — big 
steamer, it whistle. Me catch him in canoe ; quick, ze 
canoe is ready. Zis way, quick, Slim Jim sent man 
for ze rope. 

Tommy — Well, you hare a little popsy-wopsy and no 
mistake. Talk about Florence Nightingale, or Grace 
Darling, she's 'em both together, with the accent on the 
Darling. Come, Guv., we'll have our dessert aboard the 
steamer. 

Theodore — Yes, let's away. Oh, if I only had my 
travelling apparel here ! 

Willoughby — But you're not going to give up the 
Klondike expedition, are you? We have hardly started 
yet, and I shall miss you so much. Do stay like a good 
fellow. 

Theodore — Weally. Mr. Willoughby, I fear we will 
have to forego the mutual pleasure until a later day. 
(noise outside) Tommy, let's be going (Tommy takes 
a pull at the bottle) In fact I will drop along some 
Saturday, and we can run into the Klondike over 
Sunday, don't you know. (Noise) But I must be 
going now. Goodbye, Mr. Willoughby, ta, ta. 

[ 234 ] 



IVilloughby — Goodbye, Mr. Spoopendike ; but it is 
too bad to break up our friendship so abruptly. I will 
accompany you to the steamer. (All begin to go; then 
suddenly Willoughby turns and calls into the woods) 
Hay there, Old Stick-in-the-mud, if we aint back to 
supper, tell Slim that business of importance has called 
Mr. Spoopendike and valet to the Metrolopis. Now then, 
Starlitz, lead us to the canoe (Exeunt all, followed by 
Snow, still in blanket) 

Scene III — Aboard Ship. 

Captain — (Discovered alone on deck of steamer, with 
glasses) Well, it was somewhere about here Dick told 
me to look for him. I never knew the Deacon to fail 
when it came to gulling tenderfeet. I only hope he 
has had some mercy. (Enter Aunt Jemima with Izzy 
in tears) What's the matter now, Miss Lovejoy, sea- 
sick again? 

Aunt Jemima — Captain Rudlin, Haow long do you 
calculate it will be before those young scape graces 
get back from the gold country? 

Captain — What makes you ask such a question the 
day after they've gone, good woman? You don't 
expect them back do you? (Aside — I wonder did she 
hear us talking). 

Aunt Jemima — Haow? 

Captain — I say, what makes you ask such a question 
the day after they've gone? 

Aunt Jemima — It does appear like trifling with your 
nautical knowledge, Captain, but this girl here is leading 
me such a life of misery since young Spoopendike 
went, that I'm most crazy. If I thought the beans 
they talk so much about were Boston baked and that 
we could tote enough pumpkin pie and apple cider to 
last us through, I dew believe I might think of going 
into the mountains after him, especially as Mr. Wil- 
loughby is their guide. 

Captain — Oh, is that all. Don't worry yourself, Miss. 
I'll warrant he ain't worrying after you more than he 
ought. But he can't be very far off yet, in fact, do 
you know (with a chuckle) I've a presentiment that 
he'll be aboard with us tonight. 

Isabel — Oh, Captain, do you think so? How nice that 
will be. If he does we will — 

Aunt Jemima — Get married and live happy ever after, 
as the foolish story books I read, when I was a girl, 
used to say. 

\ 235 ] 



Willoughby — (from without) Ship ahoy! ship ahoy! 

Captain — My presentiment has materialized. 

(Enter Willoughby and party). 

Isabel — (Rushing to meet Theodore) Oh, Theedy, 
mv love, I knew you could not stay away from me. 
(locked in each other's arms). 

Theodore — No, dawling, I had to come, don't you 
know. 

Willoughby — That's straight goods, Miss, (with a 
wink at the Captain) he had to come. It was utterly 
impossible for him to stay longer. (Starlitz hangs on 
to Theodore somewhat jealously.) 

Aunt Jemima — Izzy, dear, dew not be too familiar. 
Who is that native person, Mr. Spoopendike? 

Theodore — Aw — it — ah (aside to Tommy), Answer 
her for heaven's sake, and get me out of this scrape. 

Tommy — (In stage whisper to Theodore) Hall right, 
Guv., seein' hit's my bread hand butter I don't see hany 
use fightin' with wot I 'as to heat, (aloud) W'y, you 
see, old lady, she's Starlitz — my sweetheart, and she's 
trying to induce the Guvnor 'ere to sign the check for a 
thousand dollars which 'ee promised to give 'er if she 
married me; ain't that so, Guv.? 

Theodore — Well — I — ah — expect that must be it. 
(Starlitz does not see the point, and Theodore says 
to Tommy again: Do take her away, Tommy). 

Tommy — You 'aven't got the check 'andy, 'ave you, 
Guv.? 

Theodore — Oh yes, certainly, ah — 

Starlitz — Don't you want dance me again, Mistah 
Ninkumpoop — me save you — me. 

Theodore — (In growing distress) Not just now, 
dawling — I mean woman — (aside) Oh, Tommy, here's 
the check, keep her auiet while I'm writing it and I'll 
double your salary too. 

Tommy — Make it payable at Juneau. I've han hidea. 
I'll stop 'ere and take 'er in tow just to oblige you, Guv. 

Theodore — Certainly, certainly, but oh keep her quiet. 

Tommy — You see, Captain and ladies, this ere wench 
is the future queen of the — wot do you call 'em, 
Willoughby? 

Willoughby — (highly amused) The Jim Jams, do 
you mean? 

Tommy — Yes, the Jim Jams — and with the princely 
hoffer hof ha fortune, w'ich 'is Ryal Tghness his heven 
now writin' hout, I will be the 'appiest man hin Halaska 
— not to mention being king w'en 'er old man croaks. 

[ 236 ] 



(Goes up and chucks Starlitz under the chin, which she 
takes in good part.) 'Ere, Ducky, I'll dance yer a round 
or two, like we did the hother night, just to show the 
'ightoned folks 'ow haccomplished you hare. Now 
then 'ere goes. Just catch on to hour curve, will yer? 

(Here Tommy leads Starlitz out and after a dance, 
sings a verse in the chorus of which Starlitz joins and 
again dances, etc., to end of song.) 

I'M GOING TO WED A PRINCESS. 

I'm going to wed a princess : 

Some day she'll be a queen ; 
And then I'll be her consort 

With all that that may mean. 
I'll sit upon a golden throne, 

And smile on Royal Dames; 
And when her pater turns his toes, 

I'll rule the great Jim Jams. 

CHORUS 

When we are the Jim Jam king and queen, 
We'll raise old Cain with ardor keen 

Likewise the golden calf; 
We'll make our subjects eat our foes, 
And with our friends we'll drown our woes 

In glorious 'elf 'n 'alf. 

Her father is a monarch — 

(Another name for king) 
His fathers ruled the Jim Jams 

Since time first took the wing; 
But now he's growing hoary 

So, as his daughter's spouse, 
When he has gone to glory 

I'll take the Kingly vows. 



[ 237 ] 



Her mother — (recitative) But I forgot all 
about her mother. For heaven's sake, Starlitz, break 
the news gently. Is your mother dead? 
Starlitz — Yes. 

Her mother's in a coffin 

Within the Royal tomb ; 
Her angel voice is silenced 

And buried deep in gloom. 
Long ere her daughter married 

She mingled with the blest — 
And quite resigned the mourners weep — 

Whatever is is best. 

Her subjects are devoted — 

At least they soon will be; 
When she is queen and I am king 

They'll have a jubilee. 
They'll gorge themselves with salmon heads, 

They'll swim in blubber fat, — 
But when she's queen and I am king — 

Who cares a fig for that. 

CHORUS 

When we are the Jim Jam king and queen, 
We'll raise old Cain with ardor keen 

And milk the Klondike calf; 
We'll make our subjects eat our foes, 
And with our friends we'll drown our woes 

In glorious 'alf 'n 'alf. 

(Starlitz sings a high note in closing last chorus and 
Tommy stops to listen in amazement.) 

Tommy — W'y, I thought you were an uncivilized 
savage? 

Starlitz — Zat is what zay call me. 

Tommy — Well they're wrong. Only civilized savages 
sing like that. 

[ 238 ] 



Aunt Jemima — Well, dew tell. What a right cute 
little fellow that Britisher do be. 

Isabel — Oh Theedy, dear. It is just like the brave, 
generous creature you are to make others happy. I just 
don't know how anyone can help loving you. 

Theodore — Yes, dawling. 

Isabel — But, Theedy, was it love at first sight between 
Mr. Tompkins and the princess? 

Willoughby — (after awkward pause) Only partly, 
Miss — you see — 

Theodore — (aside) Oh, Mr. Willoughby, I shall pay 
you well for your services as guide, don't you know, 
but be careful — oh so careful. 

Willoughby — Well, to make a long story short, it was 
a case of loving a mountain first but getting shaken off 
into the valley. 

Isabel — I don't know what you mean, sir, but it must 
have been nice — all love is so nice. Theedy dear, I 
have missed you so much ; I have scarcely had a wink 
of sleep since we parted. 

Theodore — Same here, dawling ; me too. 

Isabel — Did you have any adventures while you were 
at Klondike? 

Theodore — Well, I should say so. I'm going to write 
a book about them, don't you know. (More embraces.) 

Aunt Jemima — Sakes alive, Captain Rudlin, this is 
getting very high-filuting. It reminds me of old times 
(looks sheepishly at Willoughby). I'm beginning to 
feel just as spruce as if I were a young girl again. 

Captain — Yes, I'm married myself, but I know just 
how you feel. 

Tommy — Say Captain, (growing desirous of proving 
his new fortunes) can't you do the business up? I 
know some captains has can splice ha chap hand they're 
not a bit bettern you. 

Isabel — Oh yes, Captain, you can marry people, can't 
you? How nice that would be. 

Theodore — Oh, you weally must excuse me, but I'm 
not dwessed for the occasion. 

irilloughby — But it isn't your clothes gets married, 
Mr. Spoopendike. (Aside) Look here, if you don't be 
sociable I'll have to mention how you spoiled your dress 
suit. 

Theodore — (aside Oh, Mr. Willoughby, be merciful). 
Isabel, my dawling, if the Captain's willing, so am I. 

Isabel — So am I. 

Tommy — So am I. 

[ 239 ] 



Starlitz — (after persuasive actions on part of Tommy) 
So am I. 

Captain — Well since you four are willing, Isn't there 
any one else? While I'm in the way I might as well 
fix up six as four. (Looking hard at Willoughby.) 

Willoughby — Cap., you seem to mean me. I have been 
a widower for so long I've most got used to it. 

(Theodore stares.) 

But since she's from Old Massachusetts and reminds 
me so much of Maria — (looks sweetly at Aunt Jemima.) 

Aunt Jemima — Really, I thought I had gotten over 
such foolishness, but Mr. Willoughby is so like my dear 
Hezekiah. 

Tommy — Hit's heazy seein' the old lady's deaf, Guv., 
hor helse 'Ezekiah wuz used to tellin' some unearthly 
w'oppers. 

Aunt Jemima — (Sings) 

THE WIDOW'S SONG 

I've been a widow many years 

I've bathed my grief in seas of tears — 

I've shunned all joy: 
But still I live a widow lone — 
The grave sends back no answering moan 

No hopes decoy; 
Till now I wonder is it right 
That I should rob my life of light? 

Tho' I loved Hezekiah 

He's now dead and gone ; 
Why should I not marry 

His loss to atone? 
Why should I not hearken 

To one who loves me, 
And seal a new life lease 

With nuptial glee? 

There's those who say it is not true 
For widows to consort anew — 

It wrongs the dead : 
But after all is said and done 

[ 240 ] 



What cares the dead the pace we run? 

In last long bed 
They dreamless lie nor seek to cheer 
The life their death left sad and drear. 

And once we've found what marriage means — 
Have had a peak behind the scenes 

And proved its worth : 
It is a compliment for sure 
That we no longer can endure 

The loved one's dearth; 
But straight pick out another spouse 
To whom we may renew love's vows. 

In the last chorus Willoughby joins as follows: 
WILLOUGHBY'S CHORUS 

Tho' I loved sweet Maria 

She's now dead and gone; 
Why should I not marry 

Her loss to atone? 
Why should I not hearken 

To one who loves me, 
And seal a new life lease 

With nuptial glee? 

Theodore — I forbid the banns. 

Willoughby — What about the ball and the snipe shoot- 
ing and the pipe incident and — 

Theodore — (tragically) It matters not, villain. Since 
she is to be a relative of mine, even though Slim Jim 
and his revolver were here, I would not see her marry 
a — bigamist. 

Aunt Jemima — Ow — 

Snow — (who has been in background unnoticed) 
This is where I fit in isn't it? 

Theodore — Yes, my future and vewry respected 
relative this creature ah — is that man's — 

Snozv — (throwing off female disguise) Partner. 

Tommy — Sold again and got the money. Say, Guv., 
they've been aguying hof you right hand left. 

Theodore — Well, did you ever ! Weally, Aunt, I have 

[ 241 ] 



been misinformed. I withdraw my objection on one 
solitary condition. 

Aunt Jemima — "| 

and > And that is? 

Willoughby — J 

Theodore — That when we get back to civilization, 
you will help me keep the secret of how Tenderfeet are 
treated in Alaska. 

All— Agreed. 

Curtain. 

(If the lowering of the curtain meets with sufficient applause 
to justify a longer performance the following epilogue may be 
recited by Snow — 

EDUCATED AT COLLEGE 

Once on a time, a farmer from down East, 
Who, with his wife, two sons and a daughter, 
Had struggled for years to scrape a living 
From a resisting farm in the mountains, 
Opined, that, if wealth failed him as a whole, 
It was indeed a shabby family 
That could not afford at least ONE gentleman. 

With this in mind, he and his household saved enough 
To send the younger of the two sons to school. 
And while he was gone many sacrifices 
Were required of the home folks to fulfill 
His many needs and help him win a degree. 
But at last it was won, and the young man 
Broadened by contact with the world, returned 
To the old one-roomed cabin of his boyhood 
To meet those from whom he had so long been parted. 

They all felt proud of the young collegian, 
And with their pride a sort of modesty 
Had arisen, that, when it came time to retire, 
Made it needful to blow out the candle 
Ere they disrobed — a nicety about which 
They had not always been so careful. 

[ 242 ] 



The father first reached for the candle. 
Several times he tried to extinguish it. But, 
Owing to his heavy moustache and a chin 
That receded too abruptly, when he blew, 

(Whew) !! 
The wind went down, and the light still flickered. 

The mother, seeing his failure, came forward 
And, taking the candlestick in her long bony fingers, 
Prepared to make short work of the blowing, 
But she, too, was in trouble. She had lost 
Many of her upper teeth in the great 
Struggle for existence ; with the result 
That when she blew, 

(Whew) ! ! 

the current of wind went up. 

The older son then made shift to be useful, 
But years of incessant tobacco chewing 
Had so screwed up his face to the left side 
That when he blew, as he did with a gusto 

(Whew) ! ! 
His breath went forcibly in that direction, 
And the undisturbed flambeau still twinkled. 

Next the daughter, shocked at so many failures 
And growing nervous at the ridiculous delay, 
Grasped the glimmer firmly to try her turn. 
She was an old maid, (involuntarily 
However) and in her maidenly desire 
To be considered attractive, had allowed 
What might be described as "an eternal smile," 
To warp her otherwise beautiful countenance. 
She, too, blew 

(Whew) ! ! 
but the wind went vainly to the right. 



[ 243 1 



Now only the collegian was left. 
He, smiling at the absurd situation, 
But recognizing that it was up to him, 
Made one effective puff 

(Whew) ! ! 

and out went the light. 

The four onlookers, seeing his quick success, 
Fairly beamed, from the newly made darkness, 
As they uttered with one accord : "Dew tell !" 
"Isn't it great to have A COLLEGE EDUCATION?" 



[244 ] 



OCT 7 1912 



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